It doesn't seem so long ago, I started to climb the hill
Making many promises to myself, youthful ambitions I meant to fulfill; Now I'm past the half way mark, sliding on the way down
As queen of human failures I should wear a tinfoil crown;
Oh, I had the goods to make the grade
And youthful beauty a fair share; But I was a tool in the hands of man Unable to dodge the snare;
If I could but start again, my heart would be cold as steel
I would scorn their pleadings in verbal spark - for at my feet they would kneel;
Cold and proud I'd face the world, till I'd reached my goal
My God given talents would not be wasted and I'd be master of my soul;
Maybe I can pick up the pieces, using what remains for some good,
Many an inspiring painting was created on an old piece of wood
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem