In the eye of the god
Is a sky, is a clod,
Is a monarch's dream;
Not as rich, as it seems;
The peasants think it odd
His sceptre is gnawed.
In the hold of the ship,
Sits a loose pair of lips,
Whose ship sinking time
Lives only in rhyme;
Like a radar's blip,
From a whiskey nip.
In the drunken god's boat,
Is a castle and moat,
And a peasant's revolt,
And a pure white colt
They've mistaken for god;
But who's really just a dog
in molt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem