The thief of many souls he's been.
A laborer of mist.
Not a heart he hides inside,
But grass plucked with a twist.
Thinks he of this Syphoner:
A Fool too quick to madden;
Handle He cannot this 'heaven'.
Kiss He not Aladdin.
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My 'hookah'...look it up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem