The irresistible vocation
That
A certain muse
Has
Inflicted on
Me
The vocation
To suffer first
Chronologically
Then
After wandering
All dusty
And parched
In the dry
Country-lanes
I sing
Though
The noon sun
Be blazing.
And when I sing all the Earth rises, sings
And Beauty dances even when night
Comes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem