Have seen I,
the tale of tall tailed creator
Low it fur be
Thick it blanket be
Long it time be
But high it could be
Heartless
Mourn the flesh I
Scratch the water she
Flow be the nature she
goes through hers
Naked
Heard the breeze I
Then came tapping, rapping,
flowing, beating, dancing she
Dark
Farewell realism, me
Chant over, the last dance of mages
Oh, magic goes too slow!
Decline give the distance of
spell-
No!
Mine is she
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem