A little trust,
is better than an alter ego.
A new first,
is perfect for my broken shadow.
My deep thirst,
is gobbled me in half-a-swallow.
A safe nest,
epilogue to rendered solo.
Pick a stone, draw your sling
Rekindle the circus flame on a golden ring.
Like the the dust on burnt ash
Rebukes the Oxen with a whiplash.
The moles have seen us...
A little patience,
is sweetness to my open sore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem