see her sitting there, young, solitary and free
what soft excuse might I conjure
to have her sit by me
the impatient and impure
see her sitting there, eyes to the skies
I'll sing sweet sounds of life to themin every breath
yet those wiser orbs know each syllable lies
and they know me for whatI am: dirt and death
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem