It is my turn to say
But I can not say
The blossoming of
Impossible flowers
But I said
And you have not
Filed any objection.
In your time
You have done nothing
And gone away with
The modes of nature
And you have established
The fact again nothing
Is yours that you needed.
What is fact
What is perfect
Waiting only by all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem