O Fate, don't stare – I need some air,
I'll call for Luck, who's never there!
But Hope, I hope, might turn up soon -
Though that I doubt – there's no Blue Moon.
So Faith perhaps, the final straw
Might rescue me from Reaper's door!
My visage worn, I've one last sigh –
For now He calls for me…
Goodbye.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem