For as long as Attachments are Fulfilled
So would Life cease its Deserving Restraint
That Stress from Consitency for Joy re-filled
End more or less one's Outstanding Complaint
That Forevermore our Mortal Dregs search,
Prizes which always must Frisk then Dissolve
That Wages our Currency bid it's perch
Standing high for All but None to Resolve
Witching-bred am I to your Positives
As Charged by most self-fulfilling Corsage
Yet realise the Core of one's Fragged Lives
Make Ripe Activity its Goal and Page.
That which I Saw its own bombast Reward
Yet continue our Search for Mammon's Hoard.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem