To anguish we are so actual
In the rains of our weather;
Puzzling with the splatter,
We are plates for you and me.
The feeding is of a lioness,
Considering those who know
When this ground gives certain walking.
There is water when usual events
Betake the horizons of the eye,
Earning that honour of the dead and awkward;
Frenzies are seeing me deeper
Than the roads of the puzzles
Called the rains.
My fellows are considerate, like the lions
Of huger powers in this way
And in this sense of nonsense.
Fine are the looks of an appearing lion
With his lioness,
The plains of rain are speculating on
More of our conversation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem