The quantum of dreams, acrid
leaves her in foray, frivolity and fordim in sheltered hopes
Can she cry and gale beneath guts,
Plaid before primal spectrum and throe of the north.
She is as the blowing zephyrs of the west
like the Jamaican soil beneath,
wishing for irie days but there are only cold days in July.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem