The moths of the torrid heavens were an
emergency; their nervousness
made them impatient severely
and the alarm of the day was written
in to the face of the uprising tempests.
O! you have to think, meander here and
there, touch life from the flesh
to the very bone.
the moths of the torrid heavens were an
emergency; their nervousness
made them impatient severely
and the alarm of the day was written
in to the face of the uprising tempests.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem