The buzz of bees outlives the books,
Our art is your loving mighty message
In print and united speech of poets.
The buzzes of the axe grinding the air
Are so solid and exact that symbols
Walk in the fighting face in the fall.
My footsteps falter, this act has
Disappeared by dragons of your own.
Their wings fly though the ages,
Making the right action by flight.
It is the ears that we hear, the eyes
That we see, full mouths are gaping.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem