from his carriage on the track
spunaway into the stars
he sees the words that have escaped
from the Station 'Tea-Room'
and through the open window
he calls them in
it is a Railway-Halt of last resort
and even when the travellers heard
the distant engine scream
they seemed to have no regrets
fixing their curved gaze
into the chromium-plated glaze
through the tea-urns steam
now from his gilded- cage
as birds about to sing
he re-arranges words
and how the others
though bedraggled
shuffle into line
all they need is meaning
as they intertwine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem