Sorrow: the crows lament the darkness,
Black feathers shine, like burnished night.
Greyness calls, in sudden blindness;
An omen, that change has taken flight.
How grotesque, the shadows of evening,
A void that pantomimes reflect.
And lanterns of withered dreams and visions;
Even nightingales can't resurrect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem