My line breaks before my brain
Has amply time-adjusted,
To stop the flow of threadbare thoughts
With which my pen has lusted.
If empty words could fill the need
Of people, for real food,
And shallowness impeded not
Their amplitude of brood,
Then any words would suffice
For the surplice, boring them;
But I'd prefer to amputate
The fruit, from off the stem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem