Huddled poor the masses, did you say, not I.
Whirlpools hide the dragon and it's eye.
Needles would I thread upon one point.
Before the Gavel falls, I'd hear your allocution.
While one was never made, ambition grew.
Each priest before his god, one never stood.
Here a rose and there it's bud, yet beauty paused.
Lillie's look caused her to Donn a rustic mask.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem