We had of a long tired journey
Since Big March,83
Talking in a blank verse
Being falser than vows
Made in wine
And deep ignorant, we did not seem
We all yet make from,
The whole, our times of folly, noise
And sins make
Our outstretched arms
From one sun to the next
Looked only for the forged keys
And failed to open in us
A window for happy living
Fining no comport in neat terms
Let's not crown the season's fame!
A prickling thorn spared the best
For wounding my finger
And to my hook, longer.
The sky pulled more and more higher
Just to pluck the fruit at hand
Let's not talk for the sake of throne
Yet for the sake of Rome
They have the same dagger for themselves
When it shall need our land
To their end.
Shall our ROME smile again
Crowning our better parts
With its clocks and bells and flowers
Stirring the blood of the big robots.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ponniah, an inspiring poem......👍👍