Judgement day is ever upon us.
The end is always nigh.
Hark! Dawn's trumpeters already twitter.
Behold! A blood-red sky.
For our village's doom-set vigils
Stands each a bough, its owl.
The dead in sleep called forth of one, who
window-beams, to avow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem