I had left to the hollow
In bottled paws, famished legs.
That dove smears the marrow
And sends stagnant moon's dirges
Fastidiously to the bay
Decision of the catapult
Was, fray-longing, hits day,
Ever in the red eye of earth.
I had my fist poised
And it's beauteous strands
Calls the dust of demand.
Over span would tell my hands
So undeterred as rain
Always-would tis signal curve train.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem