I could study the wise apparatus of godly men,
Go and wonder to the birds in spring as it turned.
Then the freshness of a day excites a young mind
With fables now and then in the making,
That people have changed or else have failed to learn.
An easy gesture has been concert to the drives of a herd
So false in the asking of questions, bright green lands
Twist their fortunate drives, and the valleys ask in wonder.
My shoulders haunt my friendships, as enigmas contaminate
The ego for the intellect has been harsh.
Gentle torture is the nonsense of a day in storms,
Nights forfeit the advantages of a day in mourning
As harassed women and men go and fetch the ideal weight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem