In the red painted manor
The bees drone slow
And tasty is their
Honey.
At night
Not far off
The sound of carousing
Of the bacchanalian lot
The weary hours
Pass and
Strike
And the red painted manor's face
Resorts
To ancient shadows grey
Restless
To and fro.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem