We have no idea where it goes,
when the spider leaves its weave
We have no idea what's left to dream,
when the sandman robs of sleep
We have no idea the day nor hour,
when our maker calls us home
We can only hope that the love we've shared
—is enough before his throne
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September,2016)
From ‘The Book Of Prayers'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem