Gist is the fulcrum of a poem
On which it moves and stands
The axis where its meaning comes
The point where Substance lands.
Random words excite, that's true
May move quite many an emotion,
But lines laid bare cannot construe
The poem's end thought or destination.
Some poems have impact in brevity
Strike well like an arrow on target,
Some are like kites that fly endlessly
Filled with vagaries one cannot get.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you're spot on Cynthia, about the vagaries of creating a maze with endless words, but then thoughts often run without a course or destiny. You get across your point nicely.