And being, I am left there hopeless is one bird.
Without feathers, never born, I float on oiled wings.
All the souls, whom did naught love me ever,
I am forever out of reach, the sun has taught to sing.
Without tune or tounge, without lips nor note.
Breathing, uninvited left forever I am, sleeping.
Whom some, never thinking,
having for me not a single blinding thought at all.
e.d.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem