Or when the taste,
Now a mark,
Perhaps panacea,
Who gave these,
Or when the taste,
At flood filled with,
You'll be late,
Or when the taste,
In niche seat glow-worm,
Eyestorm at the quasi-dark,
Oh, is the success,
A stereotype feeling,
Fund warnings,
An air traffic controller,
Create the world, as I went,
Who made cold vitrines blast,
It's her symbol,
A squadron route,
What he made of us,
Is what we shared,
What we realized,
Is the same perhaps,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem