PoemHunter Troll is on the blink, we
are sadly bereft by the death of it,
our only link to poets who would-be,
who have-been, some who could-be and
all iterations of everything in-between;
what ails it, shall the mangly Troll
rise again, where shall we take our pain
and our joys, play our games with the
ploys to survive this thing called life?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem