My written words just wouldn't fuse,
And with regret I knew I'd lose.
I took the tape, I found the glue,
I rallied my lucky black-ink pen too
But all the spackle in the world
Left the phrases still unbound, unfurled.
With my restraints I could not bind
The words strewn about in my mind.
Unlike puzzle pieces interlocked,
My wasted expressions teased and mocked.
Although my poetic license was suspended,
My unchained poem remains defended.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem