Amidst the graves this night
the Shroud with a Brandy Bottle
It wields the bottle in its
hands,
drops fall.
From grave to grave the Shroud
totters, sometimes resting laying
hands on a cross or monument.
The moon looks on, surprised.
Other shrouds pass by, and groan
craving the Brandy Bottle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem