Twilight had bashfully stepped in,
And a band of three matured
And a damsel sat at the table
With a discourse uncanny.
From their exhales and lips;
The ultimate soul lines, had
The clay cups captured well
And comprehended their pulses.
Diving in the dishwasher could
The cups make out the breed
Of three pains, strange and solid
That to the brims duly wedged.
Only the damsel's breath unique
Could hallow her cup with a hue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem