The world is coeval with me.
When I was young it was young;
There was a needless lilt
In the tilt of a butterfly.
There was a random rain of events,
Which did not have to make sense.
When I was middle-aged the world middled;
It kept up with my sogginess.
Seconds before the world opened its mouth
I knew what it was about to say.
The dew had dried, the new smell's gone away.
Now I am old, the world has also turned old.
Between the pulling of the lever and
The locking of the points, a creaky delay.
I don't expect much, but even the faculties
Turn untrustworthy ministers. I am content to grope
For every excuse to hope, but there is hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Impressive work, indeed...The last 2 lines rhyme scheme works very well, as does your virtual flawless structural movement throughout...An obviously polished bard of the Silent Word you be....Will be back for more...Cheers ~FjR~