To the tiny stars
And the giant man
Imagine these and
Imaginary scars
Eye wells and dry spells
Each likely to lie idly each
Eyelid filled until real pain
Eyelids spill
Still never a man gained
By escape of ordinary pain
Still stars shrink by man giants
Eternal think
Find a man blind and lame
Ordinary speak is not the kind
Cry an ocean and call it
Ordinarily Mine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem