.
Opens the vast play ground,
Go and go merry go-rounds,
The mischief hounds hound.
The old children with new ones,
Revolve round the oldest sun,
The fire ignites the arranged hearths.
The ghosts of the forefathers hang mantles,
Some heads sprout, some on pyre-bed,
The wanton circus continues its tread.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem