Something about sitting in church
Something about sitting in a chair
Doesn't sit right with me...
I think we should be sitting on the broken edge of some brick
At night
Eating food, drinking, praying
Then the choice would be clear
Then I would know I am on the right path
When we have to huddle in to keep warm
Then I think I would hear from God
When all of our clothes are rags
Then I think it would mean more to me
I think praying would come easier
I doubt I will be able to sit in my chair
And reach that kind revelation.
Not that kind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem