Gone's Anna Lawless and don't you call her.
Wise turf has tamed her and leashed her holler.
Quiet's the rule in government of ground.
All words found riots with Lawless around.
Thought-Poems are best -nicely conceptual.
Or to re-run to TV- just sit, you're ahead!
The race 'stays in motion', (revise that!) ' perpetual';
Your ponies 'try', (fix!) 'strive' hard, full-stride- sexual-
(strike! just weird or cliché: oats or saddled with said-)
Then the finish line-ah but my lines were finished when read!
Tripped, horses froth- a kick, another kick- then they're dead, dead, dead...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem