Within a tomb
Or just a room,
A catacombs
Or just the place to kneel;
In terrible idol thought-
I saw the writer crying.
His instrument used;
But why the tears?
No idea is his own,
For imagination there is none;
Even God is done.
His influence is gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this poem! ! ! A writer wanders and weeps for words here! ! ! ! ! Plz read my poem/ art of heart