Eccentricity of words in a classroom:
Where there would be blue bells and meadows
And little fish spilling from over turned
Mason jars like soft boys drooling on soft pillows—
If there were any windows, or ways out of
Here—
But the door has swung, and the bell has rung—
And it will be another day's graveyard before we have
Any hopes of getting out of here—
So I will look into your uncanny eyes, which
Mouthlessly tell you best to me—
As the sun paints the sky so close above that
We cannot see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem