I see it in the specters
Of scenes in all my dreams,
And of hues and tints and dyeing hints
Colors no longer are what they seemed.
The Technicolor of wakefulness is no longer on my plate
I must recline and sleep to reap that feat
Only then can I satiate.
My day-rainbows of those days gone past
Recede as I sloth forth
And scented-sleep, like a maiden, beckons
Signaling me to change my course.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem