It all began with the stars
And the sparkling ficklesness
The bightness in the tenderness
Delivered not by them, so careless
The monument dusted
The hearts pasted
Its such true
That our minds can't construe
Its so unfair
That such ecstasy, we don't share
Our hearts will then tear
With the growing fear
That the bliss is for our leaders
Yet it is we in clamour; us, their ladders
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem