Flattening down voice, attempting to be heard,
yet vocally not getting it.
A little strain and suddenly voice comes up to
perfect pitch.
Staying on track like a slow locomotive, climbing
steadily up mountains of reliability, justifying
purposes along the way.
Surrendering to soothing motions while wheels pull
into stations of tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem