One metre is a distance to stay when sick,
He who lived a long time ago is too neurotic.
He who loved a fine day is paying some note
To the gates threatening to open and devote
Their time in keeping with lovely customers
Who laugh and describe a year of astronomers.
They artfully gaze at the sky at darkness,
Pleasing me, pleasing the rest of saintliness.
I deceive a sky full of stars, and it deceives me,
We promote goodness in the hemispheres, and then see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem