I will sew myself black trousers
from the velvet of my voice.
And from three yards of sunset, a yellow blouse.
Along the world's main street, along its glossy lanes,
I will saunter with the gait of Don Juan, a fop.
Let the earth, overripe and placid, cry out:
'You would rape the green Spring!'
I'll yell at the sun with an impudent grin
'I prefer to prance on smooth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem