Always the Virgin Mary,
(I always a Shepherd, or a King at best)
she carried her quiet glow
through our school days.
Always behind her grey-eyed gaze
a secret life.
She gave us clues
when she bowed your passionate viola,
when she wrote her songs,
but I was only the sheep,
not even the Shepherd,
and I could only bleat my admiration.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem