The speed of thought is different from light and sound
It remains an inconstant fluctuant
Given to moments quite profound.
Such as when a pen’s sculpt
Is driven by thought’s tumult
And indifferent dye
Gets guilded
‘Front an eye
To scratch and scribble
And scribe what is caught
‘Neath a mind’s dripple;
“Not once have I never thought.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem