I seek to so deeply fathom
That which man is in his dome
Yet constantly the little foxes
Eat the roots of my efforts like axes
Call they sleep or distractions
All stand in my way as trivial obstructions
The more they are, the lesser I am
They leave an itch at the root of my left arm
Transform my progress into retrogression
Consequently wounding my aggression
Man will never learn enough about man
As man is too mechanical a machine to man
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem