Forget it all on a whim,
remembered nightly or not;
Familiar crawling of the skin.
who'd believe you're self-taught?
Forget it all like the days,
satisfied to the gills;
throwing some scraps my way,
wearing out your lacy frills.
Forget it all down the line,
disgraced with epaulets torn;
sifting the refuse you find,
fraying your skirt well-worn.
Forget it all as on cue,
dispersed in portions minute;
crying your own kind of blues
along untraveled routes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem