It was an agreement of the lines,
The days of a child devastated few,
But thrust into the corner of the woods
Was a sighing creature of danger,
Through the eyes I saw its lines.
The tongue grew fearsome,
Fed with blood of the toil,
Letting it stare was a deed
For the ordinary man who looked
On, like the sighs of a night in ruin.
Distancing from the flying machine
Caused asterisks to fly and call,
Leaving pressing moments,
Letting the feminine walk be still
Due to the godliness of the day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem