when in the time and age
my hands grow feeble and
my tongue grows hard
then
call upon another Poet-Seer
I myself
will the keys give to my Muse
that
years ago she gave to open
hearts:
then will tradition into
evolution grow
and other tongue or tongues
our noble work hallow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem