In a dress made of amethyst,
All in metal and ice.
You are thin, you are silvery,
Like the holy valhall.
You are thundering and playing,
You call and you caress.
You're mine, did you get it?
And you will not be strange.
In a dress made of amethyst
people don't wear such.
And their stones are earthy -
not a wonder, but ash!
What's the story you're telling -
You're the furnace of horns,
You're a pipe without ending
Among multilayered gods.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem