Infinity circles my side from afar.
Cool goons are finite in the extreme,
Instead of the circles of amazement.
Let them sink into mud that gleams,
Fixing our soups and potions
That deter someone too much.
Circular objects are relaxed by them,
Loops readily obey themselves,
Instead of the spherical geniuses.
Anybody with a heart can raise a
Choir that sings to the touch of music.
Choirs are fully able to pen their words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem