Verses shall never find me Work;
Nor Songs a Salary I ever Shall.
I would rather then,
Serenade for the Hopeful to Come;
Till such Season be the Reason for Up-Bringing.
Fellow-Words be the Spells of Tomorrow;
No matter how Centred and Utterly Sullen,
I am a Writer and Words are meant to be Broken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem