This is the way I feel alone,
And daydreaming-
While the butterfly stays folded up after the metamorphosis
Of its dance,
And you are still not home yet- but the airplanes
Are laying softly in their beds,
And the serpent has floated up into its tree
Where it tells so many pretty lies
To all of the girls that happen to come its way-
Giving them candied apples
As gifts for their amoral truancy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem