Though the games of youth
were sometimes enjoyed, with virginal loss,
the hopes of realising ancient dreams
are now but returned to dust, it would seem.
Yet maybe, time has not yet ruined
all possibilities of one new comforting vision
that might well flower its head
before a burning despair drowns
all sunbeams in the tears
of my Armagedden.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem