Merry first
Then sad
The music slowly
Slower gets
Slower gets
Till to a halt it grinds:
Then
Will faces turn white
And the feet that trod
The magic grass and
Magic night
Hurry one after one.
The curtain rises
Slow.
The day alights in the first grey.
The Dawn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem