My avenue is bleeding and crazy
With my French nation.
This neighbour is like the island on course
For another land.
The land of troubles.
The land of weight and height.
I like this land, and it is America
Of course.
My rules govern the ending and beginning
Of an everlasting activity,
That of migration sold to action.
This little adventure is too numb
In the ice and cold, but the sun is awkward.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem