The gleam of your white armour
lays waste to every contour
edges as if washed away
take leave, a loss of focus
porous planes, once hard
submit their once proud shine
gravity gives up its hold
retracting into deeper domains
not willing to take up the challenge
what hope, a lowly worm like I
to be her night in shining amor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem