As I walk through the forest of the ancients,
The trees, they whisper to me in foreign tongue,
An uncertain magick courses through my body,
And through my veins, I feel it run...
I now see the mysticism, beauty,
Of what's now perceived to be faery tale...
The ground is scattered with leave and root,
An infinite growth of infinite youth,
Yet all will whither as time shall pass,
The moon shines bright but it cannot last...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem