In a non compos mentis state
Despatching remarks to the
Spirits of the second world
Belonging to the road way
Dressed in tattered clothes
With dip stick dangling tro and fro
Beneath the pathway
In a frowzy dreads
Alas!
The world has treated him thus
From decades to century
Lost in a psychopath
Trailed with millions of flies
Chuckle, spinning to a
Non rhythmic tone
With white grey hair
Tell them
They have done him evil
They have drawn a close to a generation
The household is falling,
It's nobody's fault
Its famine that makes one
Eat the fruit of strange trees
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beneath the pathway In a frowzy dreads the second world talks about century of life. Very amazing drafting shared.10