The Monsignor told me:
‘For you sing of so many
Similar things'
‘Ah, my friend,
The more things be similar
The more their present
Relative, all-time relative,
For always they were
On the genealogical tree
Always:
The more similar, the more
My friend
In almost all things.
I say almost to be modest.'
And the Monsignor stopped
And
Looked at me as the
Student at his Master
Looks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem