A rose is a rose of stellar travel,
A rosey boy will mount a horse
And command the dozens with life.
Many illnesses and diseases of dire
Concerts will confine the questions
Where they breath, fulfilling angers
Burgeoning with beer and birth.
A flower is a fault of the earth,
A quake of the worth, as it subjugates
A land of sand, the breath has burst.
My fluent cool head traverses the globe,
It speaks like the children, working.
It is the rose waking up, boosting the
Red hair, watching the incidents
Living in actualities of gold and steel.
I have a flowing find, beetles believe
In me, like the innocent children.
The celebrated men die famous,
Winning the words, worsening the cubic
Mess of grids that quake like the earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem