you'll be flying, soon (look away, sweet home) ,
above the prose, the poetry, and all of the ideas
you've had-above the dim mirage
of future, through the looking-glass
what will you find?
i'll stay behind (look down, sweet wind) ,
this time-this time, or time again?
or will i fly, and will two contrails,
floating off behind us, melt away?
i cannot say
go through the wind to find that voice of calm;
chase, chase the sound that's carried on the breeze
and carry on
fly, fly away and find your home (look up, sweet confidence!)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem