I found Elliot's eyes on Londonbridge,
Disappearing dreams are finding homes
I am a blind watchman alone.
The traces of time passing in the leaves of this country
Walking on the walk with light barren pictures
Now, in a vague theater where there is no more place to go
The stage is gone and the actor is no longer needed.
Listening to Keats's lover's tomb
In the blurred formula of the vanity of life
The old formula of the game law that fell asleep is
The roads are actually tough, but they go way as if they were bad
In the dark of the night,
The Hemster House is Survived in Watercolors
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
No bridge, no queen, but..