I've over heard him ask of you
why do you sell your love.
Up one street and down the next
men love me, but one can't.
Tall strong trees, a gentle breeze
wants more than love should give.
The eye can see loves wasted seed
sprouting nothing but more weeds.
Selling what I could not from her buy
holding close my love the pain inside.
And as I live and breath, I'm sure to die
no woman of the night should be afraid.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem