New scars tarrying where they will- always, always tarrying;
And I have had my fill, and would have found my unrequited
Love returned and returned
Bright and spendingly in bathtubs and pools, in the open day
And in the open Bible of housewives,
Except for these excuses I have somehow unwontedly given to
Myself,
So that I could sing alone, casting the last sweet breath of
Mine out into the darkest contamination of the most
Poisonous of mines; and so I sing
Like a homeless man watching after puppies in the shallowest
Of gutters beside the traffic:
I sing like a rattlesnake to the kittens in their bag given over
To the weeds and the pu%sy-willows
Where the murderers lay relaxing just some feet from the pretty
Lilies,
Where the frogs sing they too coming up from their metamorphosis
Amidst the sticks in the mud;
And the airplanes sing high above them like bottle rockets with
Feathers,
Like chariots for little girls and their beautiful mothers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem