Returning to the mist, a new clown moves,
Fading into the sun and its dreams all the way.
An actual act has been committed by this very same drunkard
Over the pastures of November and December.
To do with the new year, a new invention has occurred
To begin the joyous mountain of privilege.
New years are sensible affairs, of righteous news,
The very endeavours are betaken for the light of news.
Parade him not this clown who made this concoction,
Of weight and extreme importance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem