The cosmic scholar wades down the lane,
In an old, worn overcoat, consumed with thoughts of Kant.
He ignores the plebeian dins, the constant rant
Of passersby lost in epicurean pain.
And when the orange dusk descends
Over store fronts selling papers and books,
He purveys them wearily with soporific looks-
As another twilit winter ends.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem