For a poet,
There is nothing more forlorn
Than a poem
Which is never born.
That bit of inspiration,
Lost
That slips away
At a great cost.
Like a miscarried child
It's gone,
And there won't be
Another one
Exactly like
The one before,
Though you continue
To write more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a magnificent write.......................
Thank you so much, Bernard, for such a wonderful compliment! : -)