All wounded hearts are mine
With wild gush of aching blood
Red as flowing wine,
All crying eyes are mine
With tears of hurt or loss
Pure as the ones of mine,
All torments of soul are mine
With desire for redemption
Ripening in suffering's vine,
All smiles are also mine
Flashing images of God
For which hungry spirits pine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem