A few words whispered low
That found a life in afterglow
For what is left is all irritation
Not truth but an idle orientation
So as the pages are turned
In what truth found do we yearn
And what got lost in the translation
Is left for us to wonder at its inclination
For truth is what is known
By a version that is sown
And the translation of it all
Is left up to your final call.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem