As I wander along deep sunken caverns,
Fallen from time's old hand,
Thoughts seep back,
Glazed over when
Hollow shells of hours
Pass with empty steps.
But not to sleep-Perchance to dream.
Swelling any sign of progress.
No start to a scene or two.
And when I think,
I ponder to autumn trees
In clumsy lined pews.
Sick with leaves, they cower-bare.
Untill the sightless realm
Of the awake impedes me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem