Never can the flowery words
Of tenderness on paper,
Ever be pitched into shreds
By oblivion's eraser.
Never can the beaks of birds,
Life-sinister as ever
Peck down them to crumbs of breads-
For those words warm wax better.
Never can words wreck to sherds
By apathy's grave stunners,
But by their delight that spreads
To spray rings lush with wonders.
Never can bugs merged in herds
To gore them with their stingers
Ravaging in scathe that sheds-
For those words warm are winners.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.