An instrument I am.
To be used as a tool.
But by 'who'?
My own choices I make,
Sometimes are derailed.
I am conscious I believe.
But when that leaves,
Something else prevails.
Faith and trust,
Are with me as a must.
And I have stumbled so much,
Getting up is part of my routine.
With a laughter that is done.
And I know this is seen.
An instrument I am.
To be used as a tool.
But by 'who'?
I have been ill and healed,
As if I am skilled at that too!
Faith and trust,
Are with me as a must.
And I have stumbled so much,
Getting up is part of my routine.
With a laughter that is done.
And I know this is seen.
I don't do it for the attention.
At my age that would be too obscene.
My own choices I make,
Sometimes are derailed.
I am conscious I believe.
But when that leaves,
Something else prevails.
'Angels we have heard on high...
Sweetly singing...'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem