Sending to the other half a letter,
I write towards the edge of insanity,
As royal favours mark the considerations
Like oil of the gun and oil of the pun.
My other half seems too loud and hard,
Faint strokes sunder, faintness creates me
With displeasure, as displeasing as sentences.
My authors are exactly a reminder to the whole
Distance of the earth and its splendours.
My earth is my soil, my soil is my planet,
And this I wreck, to behold a mystery of the sense,
The folding nations, and the rolling hills
To weather it.
The mountaintop awes me beyond sides of the square,
This top of the realm is an everlasting action.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem