Let that world does not commune with me—
the world indifferent to a child,
lacking pure sense of perfection,
a true arc of reason,
a hope that lasts as days,
that which does not know
I was born free to be freer and happier as it
Because my art of life shall be done
trailing behind its nature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem