Despite your satsuma the real colours matter,
Restart the savage beast with red colours.
Spikes, with satyrs that reside in your garden,
Are gory and gorgeous, making the satsuma of blood.
The restive operatic folk learn anew for want of blood
And curds of hatred, vampiric sub-stations await.
The orange colour is of horrors and entrapment,
No sweetheart created or admitted this colour.
May the real colours inhibit the offspring
And the opus of life and its workings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem