When was I a loner walking down the street,
tipping my black hat to everyone I meet?
When was I a poor girl, sitting on a log,
trying to catch my little brother a green bull frog?
When was I a writer, writing in my book,
Finding things to write about with every glance I took?
When was I a flower swaying in the wind,
Being stepped on by all those who sinned?
When was I? .....
Originally written: March 8,1988
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very good writing really, I like it. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment,