Summer's almost over - that convalescent state
where successive modes of pleasure
were the order of the day.
Now fall commands awakening -
drive simplicity away! The hounds
of hell yelping that it's time to banish play.
They cry "forget unscheduled hours
that owned no share of care - the virtual halls
are scheduled and we'll soon see you there."
No apotropaic magic can delay my slated fate -
to pixelated halls of learning I must soon acclimate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
They cry " forget unscheduled hours that owned no share of care - the virtual halls are scheduled and we'll soon see you there." a very fine poem. Summer is almost over. tony