shall not mark wilfill
'dead ends of time'
when can swift brainstorm
spin clouds in memory mine...
will rub two rough sticks
together inflame still mind
marking the ends of time
with Kaleidoscopic images...
I will stand upon my edifice tomb
drink life dregs or chill summer wine
swelling in no pain smiling in my mind...
I taught mud their lessons with insight fine
summoned from grounds my own clay rare earth
to spread skies vision wide in horizons birth...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem