He supposed
There had been tribes
Thought dawn
Night's attempt
To forestall coming light,
Childhood
Dark's attack on prudence.
Who could know
What red arsenal
Night
Might muster in the black,
What manufactures dark?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What indeed, and where sourced those murky ingredients of fear and bumps and monsters munching, and who stirs the inky pot and banishes righteous luminosity. Haste, haste stumbling haste, the rapacious dark must be fed, but secure its chains and do not slip where it's last meal bled.