Shadows fell on indispensable hopes and grace.
All of our inherited clemency cowered;
and the currency of hopes was almost over,
the hopes that had overlapped one another like tiles.
Yet hopes lived on like the scent of fornication;
even when I kind of felt my nerves were
benumbed with cold amnesia, I thought -
despair's a lubber's loom jabbering away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem