There was her head all ears.
Face dark and dead,
Her eyes wide open,
And the soul so bare.
Yet she smiles, laughs,
Shouts and weeps,
And spring, a beautiful light.
Thence the crops grow full ears
With tentacles everywhere.
Together, they shall abide infinite
As though were a war in history
With neither a victor nor vanquished.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem