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The Morning after Woe—
'Tis frequently the Way—
Surpasses all that rose before—
For utter Jubilee—
As Nature did not care—
And piled her Blossoms on—
And further to parade a Joy
Her Victim stared upon—
The Birds declaim their Tunes—
Pronouncing every word
Like Hammers—Did they know they fell
Like Litanies of Lead—
On here and there—a creature—
They'd modify the Glee
To fit some Crucifixal Clef—
Some Key of Calvary—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Is someone here because of LA 🥶🥶😈😈🥵🥵❌❌🧢🧢👁👄👁