Cry no more Bance!
It comes in season,
It come to dare
To trick and thrill
Put pieces out of moles
And crumble like cards
Like goblin in the tale
It will ruin you to nothing
Torment and strangle you
It will poke its middle finger
In your eye _ molestation
Results, in great void
A sudden emptiness beneath
A silence unseen, a quietude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem