When the eye is satisfied
it does not beg for lens
setting a precedent,
excess being to vision
as drunkenness is to mind.
It roams, chooses, rests
and settles. A deficit addressed
may, later, lead to others.
Excess only becomes
the dupe of its extravagance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Of its extravagance! Thanks for sharing.