It is the body
That remembers with no strain:
it hardly does to trust
the brain-poor thing
Which fails when wanted
All it's vaunted cunning can't bring forth
An ancient rose: the body's silken network caught
It's fragrance easily
And even holds
The melody that never passed-
the notes or hearing
Somewhere runs on
endless song - with winds like fingers playing
In some unlikely place
Beyond the brains imaging
Between the spaces
Of the stars perhaps
Where two and two
Add not- to this or that
Some strange assertive
Of the blood permits such
Grand and mysterious heresy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem there, well done