complacencies of the pain war and latte
all foamy from the salt spray sea
the blind old bard stumbles at the clearing
and the gods transform him into tree
o tempura, o morays
the poet cried where he stood
oh to be slick as a serpent again
and not a woodchuck's wood
love and lauds
on your being humongous
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
HAPPY BIRTHDAY Charlie Potts