Poets are strange,
A little deranged,
But it really doesn't matter,
They can have Ups and Downs,
Sometimes act like Clowns,
But their Dreams you cannot shatter!
No definition at least with precision Of us Wizards of the Word-Whirlwind At Wood-Chuck's Word-Shop Where we're All Word-Work & No Word-Play. Strange as reality are We, Whom attempt to reflect the Universe To Thee... Undefined and Indefinitely Intuitive In-Depth and in debt Of the gifts we've been lent. Sarcastic kisses in public are we; Humiliating brilliantly. Giving Love hatefully Or honoring Painfully We the seedling of the Maple Tree The Free poetry Contest Fee The Key so Chapo Guzman gets free The Horrible loss or Beauteous Victory. The Inch, The Centimeter and the Century There is no definition, Except Poetry. P.X .3.16.14
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I would like to translate this poem
Right on! Bullseye! Thank you