It is not a day for Poetry,
its music would be drowned
out by the sound of knives being sharpened
and axes being ground.
But no matter who's in power,
the plastic puppets of the hour..
They cannot slash the sunset,
they cannot cap the dawn
they cannot tax the starling
as it hops across the lawn
they can't reduce the songthrush
as it trills upon the stump
they can't cut back the daffodils
with talk of boom and slump.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem