to be
either
your troublesome Ishtar....
your loyal Enkidu.....
you let
her
wear each of those faces,
to
dress herself in leaves...
to
trundle in the hollowed cedar....
you then
persuaded yourself
she
had
not
earned a maggot's mourning..
.and,
keening
wonderfully,
as ever did any rook's
erstwhile companions,
you
left her to
count clothespins......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem