See if the eyes can withstand the hearing loss
So minute and innocent, like the folding of paper;
To this strange sight the delivery has been aided,
One that survives sweetly describes, as the eyes fold.
Often the goose is laying its eggs
And I must be master of their tactics,
Little yesterday was the day of luck.
Your tennis bade me well, forgetting the youth
Of grunting, the youth of sporting that sprouts.
Heavenly ways design streaks of light
That gather their sporting ways and collect danger
Of the climbers of mountains,
I must be on the crests of waves,
Not their troughs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem