My spender rinses me as I have spent,
The real ferocity makes me cement;
The deed has done my face, has seen me last,
I cast a spell, and be somewhat aghast.
My buying and this lying can concern,
But this time that design does spend a burn;
The cavern dozes and deserves music,
Unmet, unworked, like sport and metallic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem