The day is young, so young with beauty to behold
Times has flown, there comes the beacon of hope
We need the sunshine to feel alive
There comes a time when all the birds go to sleep
In the vulva of time comes the echoes of hope
When all men shall turn to ghosty bubbles
and all fantasies shall fly the flight of death
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem