I've pondered certain inference
and again lean towards...
that liberal-lady in Chico.
Who can circumvent fate
and still claim clear?
I realize a cynical hint
may provoke caution, and yet,
as W. B. Yeats speaks:
'...'tis not inanity in nature
that winds blow seed and sow,
continuing beauty in the spring
as piquant flora grow -
creation's benediction in diverse hues....'
This.....infallible.....destiny.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem