I’m hanging by a thread

on Virgin Mary’s mercy.

Stout cries,

I beg to no avail.

Are they not enough?

My forefathers cried, and I am now

for the same.

Poets are said to love food, but how

can they feast with so much hunger?

“May your souls rest in peace

in the name of the Lord – Jesus Christ?

Amen.”

May those who carry the light be able to make amends.

Many have failed, but never will I.