(I'm not trying to make this thing rhyme
But, at the same time,
A little interlude like this
Is not amiss).
We interviewed a Mayor and asked gently, 'Dost
Think, my lord, that thy great city is a pleasant place wherein to dwell? For, if
not, why not?' And he answered, 'Dust!'
He seemed perturbed. Something was on his mind. He could not talk. He could not
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem