Like feathers covering wild birds
there is a haze around some words.
Inside my heart a burning blaze
makes puffs of hesitance and haze.
Yet, birds and words and feathers do
give open ears a welcome clue.
Be not concerned, the rains are mild,
come, run with me, into the wild.
Where Lupus lives we can be brave
and light a candle in our cave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem