Dreams work like the future of light,
Girls of families worm out in lights,
Dreams of the dreamers are like respect,
Loathing them is defining the deity behind their play.
Loss is the night of powers and beliefs,
Nights so homely are solid memories,
Days ignite the final gestures so supreme,
Like the ancient ages of the old men and women.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem