I am getting old
Took me a year and four moons
To surrender to you
I stand here to face the dirt of the earth blown
To let the wind tear at me
I heard Jesus is coming soon
But I might not be around any much longer to welcome him
If fate permits, I will join his entourage
Put down your armour
When I am gone the little peace we shared will be all you think of
And Wanting more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem