Where the cloudy clean curse steals
We have our blows of bulging breaks
Sustaining the horses hoisted by hissing;
The horses are stolen by magicians
That swear to their speeds like binary,
The magic comes where we are never
Conquered by rare forms, a romance
Has asked a question of being.
The beings are broken by stalemate,
Horses harass us with haunted pleasure,
Steeds of the highest honour bow
To be curses and stolen stones to pelt
Those with agony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem