Poets look
oddest in
the public
eye, they
always set
their eyes
in little
things of
none value
to ordinated
eyes; a passerby
would see no
sense of life
alike, a sitting-by
would spite a laugh
and seek a reason
to say a curse;
they always no not
about the coming
storm and the poet
is there always
for that reason.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem