It would be easy to write meaningless words on a page
such is the void of our age
may reasons spring
with gentle heart proudly bring
all the bounties of the harvest of minds
with all the wiles and charms
of beauties, books and poet lines
inner worlds rich, tapestries of gold
cloudlike ephemeral sometimes far too bold
we all must hold to their secrets or forever be lost- truth be told
we weave a miracle through the sickness of the fog,
a serptentine cognitive, a trail not fit for pavlov's dog
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem