After the silence
Broke a Voice
And said: 'lament
Be our lust for evolution;
Yearning the itching
Of our hands for evolution'
And
Then this Voice was drowned
In to a hubbub of equal
Voices, logical contraries
Yet
Moving all the same
Together.
The train hooted
Hooted
As it advanced
Flying
Through a wood
Therefore
Flying through
The trees
The shirts of agony
Pale faces.
A squirrel
High up came
And looked
Heard the hooting
Looked down
Giddying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem