The aging artist has a trait,
those short on sight can't bear
All normal signs of waning,
a crown now his to wear
Wrinkles and sparse graying hair,
still negative to some
But when they light upon a Sage,
—the moon bows to the sun
(Grantham New Hampshire: February,2017)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem