She use to cry for you,
she thought you cried for her too.
When she was young,
she always waited up for a be time song to be sung.
She use to sneak into your room at night,
see your man and run away out of sight.
You use to let them hurt her,
even being so young and as pure as myrrh.
But only you suffer for that,
no longer will you or them knock her flat.....!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem