How soon would Communication dictate
And let your Prunes for his Love re-invent
His Time though ordered by Hunter's Rebate
Proud his Life shared your Inner Thoughts descend
Though such by Time same placed Hobby does spew
As Habit your Child forced shoot into Fame
At least by Forces too Crumped to Dispute
Which by Light's Burn truss Everything be Same
Not much Morphs, I think. Though Errors be Right
Only beyond Tinsels such Journals presume
Though still our Lives by Living onto Light
As Proud be Happy our Experience resume.
Only if which that same Happiness you Share
If by Empowerment find our Muses there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem