There she'd sit,
placid,
uncomplaining,
where spiders
walked
and cobwebs formed.
Dirty, dangling
clouds of smoky silk,
darkening
the ceiling
above the hall
stairs
If you dared offer
help,
sharp words would
rain down on you.
wound you, and daggers
would
pierce your heart
from her bright,
aquamarine eyes,
so, the cobwebs
remained, mocking,
taunting....
forever
out of reach
to all who called.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem