Hear this voice of peace
the song of my victory
the eloquence of my silence
the game of my fame
Tis the rag of time
that i barracade in the dewy cold
hear the solace voice of all
nothing have i to say;
untutored youth, yet i be
with sagging thought like grumbling hill
my worlds are sterile
like splinters of didactism.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem