I START the day with paper white,
And put it in my old machine,
And wonder whether, as I write
The night will find my copy clean.
Will this day's finished task be fair
Or full of blemishes and flaws?
Will what my hands have written there
Deserve derision or applause?
Have I put down a single thing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem