If need be Norbert you could now
The asphyx of my flowers plough-
The silence of your boom aswell
Would hyde within my tree so well.
And in this ill of looking glass
As is assumed to all that pass,
I'd reach inside my top and cry,
‘Oh Leary, what a thing am I? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem