A poem is not an effort by a tight-lipped genius
Gripped by the setting failure's fears,
Or the penning of those furious about defeat,
Who are not under the grip of it;
It's the flower of a gracious soul unseen,
An idyllic utopia that has never been;
The splendor of a life unperceived,
And the thought of faiths unbelieved!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem