Goddess, call me over to dinner in your
High basins, and I will drink your liquor, for it runs off
You as if you were always in the Spring,
And now you are laughing with your daughter while
I am lost in the woods, but don’t think of me:
I have been lost so many times for going to high up,
And touching the backyards of god where her clothes
Were drying:
And I have had fun, even if I am dying: while this is your
Youth, and she is looking up at you through the melted
World
That is colored by her eyes by which she has formed you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem