Spirits marching in time, stepping into steps of former
heavenly precedents.
Lowly sounding music, peeking out from a secretive corner,
in a mind of poetical delivery.
Accentuating talent throughout an intellectual desert of
beautiful design, walking gracefully down avenues of
imagination, holding hands with subconsciousness in a
cradle of childhood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem