Measuring his days from high to high,
barely getting by; living on the fly,
Henry Worth began setting by
vials of tears for a rainy day,
treasuring the warm fluidity of them
in a dirth of heat,
and in the absence of good fortune.
Pleasuring his ego, marking time
with petty crime; he carries the vial of tears
into the vale of tears and gritty grime,
and a veil of tears
that hid his valor from his fears
is parted and for the first time
he can breathe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a great piece you have written here Sonny Rainshine, you have the makings of a remarkable poet. Keep this gift going...well done. all the very best Jon