“That flesh is grass is now as clear as day,
To any but the merest purblind pup,
Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay,
My Lady B-- comes and rakes it up.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay, My Lady B- comes and rakes it up.” short and sweet and meaningful. tony