the face
does not breed the contempt
of familiarity
it forges a smile
beneath the
logical confusions
it shakes the hand
of the teacher
who now
is too old to remember
what reason
what cause
what knowledge was once
there
on the shoulders of youth
on the crisis of
middle age
on the thrill of what must
finally come
that peace
eternal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem