Dimpled crates,
fetch fire and ice
wrinkled ribs
hug clinching claws.
Under the skies' shut eyes
still as death, it lies-
upon its head,
rainbows rain lowly
upon its feet,
termites' castles sit.
Through summer's whip,
girdled on winter's hip
under the skies' shut eyes
still as death, it lies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem