The sense has to surround you with wet water,
That is the dimmest of news for a wanderer;
One way to forsake is dribble and ache with sight
That believes in itself with taverns of almighty light.
I have to feel in this delivered state, this waterfall,
That steams and falls to destinations that you call.
My path is straighter than the sticks of late,
My staff guides me along the one city of the state.
I have to see palace after palace in my dying and waking,
The life befalls you with its grasp and making,
I see a light at the end of the river that swerves and tells,
Like a stream or brook, but a mother and father who sells.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem