Boughs and breezes and last minute revises,
And everything else all the sweet people write;
Haikus and sonnets and poor beau peep bonnets
Colluding with a somnambulist’s night.
Houses and gardens and winter lakes hardened,
And colours of computer design;
Nurtured dawn chorus with all it implores us,
Waking up on the third railway line.
Tutors and mentors and worthy inventors
Evolving without literature;
Stumbling matches for riding dispatchers
Asleep with their steed’s indenture.
Sure and steady in time with the eddy,
And drowning without any sound;
Appraising aspirants without any fire, and
Feeding your fox with the hounds.
Willows and branches bent down to their haunches
Presenting the prize of their leaves;
Stranded poor souls reaching up from the holes
Where the roots of anxiety weave.
Rest and awake and return to your state,
To confirm all the dreams scenery;
Write down all the words discovered in worlds,
And prepare them in your inventory.
Bows and recitals and first night reprisals,
And flowing mail order discoveries;
Walking and chewing and winter stock stewing
Material to render recoveries.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem