You look at me bemused and with a grin;
Your brow furrows and your eyes express
Black moist sympathy
And so patient
Like a mother might be with a child
Whose head for the moment is too filled
With giant-dragon imaginings;
What to the child is mothering
Is to the adult contempt;
That's a great mask you've got there
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem