The docks in the brooks wept lane
Column's ringing drops, carved dew
The container, the dark door wide
Aren't there outsiders on the bed of that my pride
A red rose and a minstrels flight
Red favored favor despite
On a red mole, it climbed inside
An octave, white, blue frame and I'd
My hand off, on a peer, website
To the familiar door that she'd guide
On the white, longer growing green, and minstrel fed
The singing breaks, shewed villages of a wishful lad
And over the glazed fingers skated that her were set
Dancing hollowed form
Brims with key, cotyledon green key
And fast through the drifts of a ticker volunteer
And over the cloth the rode chevalier
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem