Those token drumrolls into place,
that familiar bass line falls in line
till it finds the keys
and the brassy brass.
Then in come the woodwinds
and the dueling guitars-
Then Crash goes the cymbal
and all the strings fall
through the holes in the floorboards
and the whole wide world
ties itself to the shrieking wheels
while minstrels play on and on
like sycophants chiselling their names
in the air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem