Even a wolf coughs in disgust,
At the masks howling climax;
Scabs in the sky are picked
And blood drops on Summer Solace.
The Sun sheds at Winter Solace
Snow craftily smoulders violet moonlight;
Odds are the Equator is retching
And the Egyptians are standing in the heat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem