soon you shall learn the trick,
such magical skill
picking a stone hiding it behind your skirt
and then coming up
with a white lily, and hiding it again
inside your pocket
and from behind you comes a
black crow
and you want to end it there
and you leave like a helpless kid
unable to retrieve that stone from the crow
that replaces you on stage
saying it is really you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such magic skill, nice thought and beautiful poem.