For weeks and weeks I’ve pondered
On this accolade accorded to me,
By my fellow poets,
And why it should not be.
For me to be a poet,
Is not what I think I be,
Rather an Agent for the L-RD
Whose Words I communicate to thee.
Fellow Poets consider my poems,
Are good and often more,
But all the words I’ve written
From above those words seem to pour.
When HE does not wish it,
No words does HE speak to me,
No Rhymes, or Scans, no Lines or Verse,
Can be written down for thee.
My Faith in HIM will not be shaken,
In bad times, HE’ll comfort me,
And my Mind, I know HE’ll awaken,
When again, it’s time to write for thee.
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 3 October 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem