With eyes angelic and piercing
With a brain as sharp as a razor dissecting
With fingers of a fine guitarist picking
With cloths and jewels so bewitching.
He was here.
A threat to craft-men's souls
A threat to speckled professors' intellectual souls
A threat to priests' butter and souls
They conspired, hounded and burnt his soul.
He was here.
In place, a void so vast
They labor in a world so vast
Magic is no more, the congregation is bored
He was here, wandering glimpses so craved.
He was here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem