In the midst of the gale
Turn I
Round and round
As
The weather vane
And
As
The weather cock
Turn I.
In the midst of the gale
I feel as
The reed
That is moved here
There
As the wind commands
Wants
Moved here
Moved there
In the midst of the gale
In the midst of the gale
I feel pain
But
Most not of
Turning
Around and around
But
Solitude and
Loneliness
A soul that burns
Low
A pulse that
Ticks slow
A heart that
Throbs not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem