I was a professor when people disliked the view,
They were ideal guests, some distance up ahead.
I like the weekend house of some importance,
Gorgeous readings becomes bad business,
Durations are worse than the acts of misdeeds,
Forever goodbye to sorrows of the tongue.
Both the botanical and the zoological
Combine to fulfil the soul of its might.
Life is punctual, life is mundane,
But professors are not simply display
Or hoaxed into certain thoughts.
My strange wonders abide in the heart
Of the world and its horrors,
That combine and mingle towards death
And the counter-intelligence
Inside this whole county.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem