Bye to the callers of the daylight hours,
See to their heightening times; and forms
Of the face voice their thoughts,
Stew has appeared to froth and become
Dark dealing, cauldrons of broth boil
And bubble to blow into bothers,
Like the ghost of garlands and gay ghastly
Noise.
Bye to the feelings of a tomorrow,
One night flows into the simple notion,
Owning fire that spreads like diseases,
Illnesses, infections, and cancers.
The envy of a man who is a boy
Shall stay down in solemn size and starts.
His olives and pickles are surrounding the plate,
Feeding is his worry for the worst ossification,
Sending a dire need through the pies and prunes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem