Apparent to they who be of Shibboleth,
like Masons of their esoteric Order
in cellars, with piceous window panes,
so the normal be occluded from sighting-
depraved constitutions, superstitious rituals
So many scores ago, so many scores ago;
still we burn from it's cognate evil-
these bridges not be crossed again.
FjR-MMXVII
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem