The echoe of yon voice-Oh so trembling...
That voice-Doth cause great pain of grace.
The grace of disgraced findings...
Finding musings of the heart.
Those musings of the heart...
Do they muse me to start?
All mannored troubling beings...
Always to truth, are they forever fleeing?
Fleeings of memoried balk...
Forever more to haunt and stalk.
Hunting and stalking it's weakened beast...
Th' one we care for, of what thy least.
Hunt for more answers naught...
Upon yon, riddled caught.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thoughful and deep. I enjoyed the read I'm fairly new on here. Look me up some time. Steve