In the sub-conscious woof
Sewn
By trembling hands
Fostered
By the nocturnal knights
That pace
Around
Around
The spell-bound monastery.
There be a pale
Imagery
That was born
In the genesis
Of twilight; with it
Parallel-simultaneous
With it
Spell bound and smelling
Of myrrh and camphor
Magic scents Oriental
Tasty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem