Perfectly simulated with brocaded ideas of old,
tenderly assimilated, altering as it does so,
images being written down in languages all their
own.
Mistakes not being sent my way, as grammar becomes
pictures in mind and spelled out upon paper.
Noticing every nuance and expression of faces as
it falls before me in fields of snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem