Flipped, the world tips to a sound,
a beating, a reading, something not round,
not any longer, till again do you think,
which way so somber totters the brink?
All withall it thinks in like motion,
As it ponders and wanders this strange notion,
though not so weird as to pierce the veil,
as it continues in earthly wail....
Foul dentist, your tooth is all rotted,
as you waste away the time you're allotted,
you tinker and linger in wistful recollection,
till all comes to naught, not righted in correction.
The world tumbles, in its tapestry,
as at its edges, its riven like a dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem