Panic to turn back
As on sunshine's mould.
Check, waving it off
So breezily cold.
Out what o'erarches
In farewelling's row
Of quick to dim years'
Heavy hanging woe
A test, a torment
To retrieve back through
That ghost, shapeless myth
Of her dwindling view.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem