This journal is the life I’ve led
My dreams, strange thoughts, what’s in my head
A grieving scene, a dirty look
They all go down in this wee book.
We say we’ve all had quiet lives
But when you think, try to contrive
Write the truth, don’t tell a lie
For when you start the pages fly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem