I could hit it
bullseye
Word for word
The immortal poem
And waste the rest of it
cooped up
In small wood cabin with nothing but a few
Bangles and were eyes
Or I could meet a nice woman
Brown hair
Sunset eyes
Warm heart
And waste the rest of it
Cooped up
In small wood cabin, with nothing but a few
Bangles and wear eyes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem