There is a foulness blowing in the air,
and I like it not,
Cold secrets flutter to burn hot,
and your words are in the air,
There is a stony change in the sound,
and I like it not,
its life has gone, begun to rot,
and your voice is this sound,
There is a deafness to the reaching silence,
And I like it not,
it bodes ill like a poisoned pot,
And your deaf to this silence,
There is a blindness to a rosy sight,
And I like it not,
eyes see only the blind spot,
your rosy tint gone with failing sight,
There is blazing pain in a weak heart,
and I like it not,
the trigger pulled and now shot,
and your're the pain in this dear heart.
And I like this not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem