Here
Here the building smolders
Dilapidated stands
Dilapidated falls
Yet the old song that comes at dusk
Comes every day
When curious feet away:
And
In proportion direct to the darkening
Round
Round
Round
Dark figures hooded go in dancing
And
Plays the old song that comes at dusk
Sad
Plaintive
Sad
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem