Is all talent gone now dear brother?
Thy hand at rest and mind at peace
Next to the epitaph of mother
Where doves flap at the sight of thine release.
Where be thy spirit of being
If thy body caught in cobwebs of dreaming
Collapsing all sense of seeing
Despite the hope of the redeemer redeeming.
Dear brother, give me time to beaver
Fair youth doth bring the elder chance
But if quickened time dost take me, dear reliever,
Fix me not on earth but in my brother's trance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poetic imagination, You may like to read my ars poetica named as (Poetic Sense-1) Thanks