Lord Vesuvius sits sullen;
it's been a long time since
his last tantrum. We are still
counting the cost, we tell him
appeasing his mighty temper.
Lord Vesuvius sits shrouded
mysterious in the haze of
springs first sunshine; he will
not promise anything, he tells
us. He may yet have another.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem