The regurgitated bubble float towards gaiety,
Graceful as the pollen on May's air.
Sores have been nursed by the sands at the bottom of the glass.
Partnered butterflies release renaissance into a labrynth of veracity.
Truth is for those jocund.
Extravagant emission of jovial bliss
Creates a gala for thosands of guests.
Fluttering like charged ions,
Mirth is exchanged
Then inventoried,
Because it is a fleeting sensation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem