I thought I saw a somewhat-cloud,
Somewhat-wool, and some colors around:
'Twas an evening, but whoa!
What's that mournful vision called?
Creepy as a spark, sleepy as the dark,
As it's telling tales to me: all lark.
But it, the only seeming thing, is said
To inspire a human being, instead
It only reminds me of the people now are dead!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem