A elaborate round trip
with stage money and
a piping voice that shuffles
in and out of our front and
back doors.
yes this is our viennese waltz,
with clowns, kings, jesters, and
a full moon with plans of its own.
the scene changes, the puppets
stand up and go, in walks light,
this light we call hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem