A girl made of wicker,
Doused in straight ‘A’ fuel
Honors dangle around her neck,
Adorned with charcoal jewels
Her button eyes myopic,
With straw hands worn by work
A mouth sewn in a crossing stitch,
A voice never heard
Watch her burn, the wicker girl,
Burn out and die away
The flame so bright inside her head,
Doused by society’s game
So alive she had once been,
Her efforts not in vain
She blew too hard, she pushed too long,
The wicker caught aflame
No longer new, no longer good,
The fuse has run its course
So goodbye, wicker girl,
Your ashes will be dispersed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is very interesting Thanks for sharing