She longed to travel
The silent course
Of the half-moons
That set around her emerald eyes.
She chose blindness over grace—
She became god!
So they made a throne of a mounting cross
And hoisted it high—
Higher than the waning moon.
So she blesses the earth in the evening
And takes her vengeance in the morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem