Done tossing about on the river's bed
Half bled, but somehow not quite yet dead
What is it that keeps me in line?
Define?
The promise of more time?
Raise me up to you
Archimedes screw
Twist and turn
Yet yearn, air to breathe
Unsheathe
Me of this plentiful dew
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem