She parades by
On horses of glass
Still cut through the morning
Fog looms in their faces
Eyes replaced by mirrors
She bleeds as she glides
On sorrow so deep
Illusions intertwine
She holds a key of silver
In her ivory hand
Crystalline tears
Slip through pale lids
She slips quietly by
But the faces are bare
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A tender, yurning poem, which gave me a feeling of, if only they would go away? this poem has style by the bucket. Smiling at you, Aciiiiiiiiiid Taieque