759
He fought like those Who've nought to lose—
Bestowed Himself to Balls
As One who for a further Life
Had not a further Use—
Invited Death—with bold attempt—
But Death was Coy of Him
As Other Men, were Coy of Death—
To Him—to live—was Doom—
His Comrades, shifted like the Flakes
When Gusts reverse the Snow—
But He—was left alive Because
Of Greediness to die—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
....an excellent write, if we hold on to tightly we lose it ★