To write I am forced,
By an angel, sweet;
My blood fast coursed,
To give a treat.
To my dismay,
I found nought to write;
My mind in disarray,
Is drab downright.
But write, write I must,
For my daughter darling;
Let her savour the crust,
Lest she go starving.
I know her appetite,
This poesy would whet;
So a little bite,
Would not make her fret.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Never being forced to write, it just continually flows from intellect, and yes, I must keep writing, I cannot stop myself because it is too important to my being. Passion is the driving force of my essence in poetry, your poem struck a chord within me, totally enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing it. RoseAnn