As laden
With a pain
he threw a stone
On his glass with wine
Broken
To many pieces
Spilled bleeding violet
And the earth became a drunk
As a grace
the earth gave
A grape tree
Without
Loss
Who can
Gain
Parable
Without scratching
Your soul
As cold is blacken coal
You can't own
The butter with no churning
At all
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem