the butterfly,
the oily wings,
the gazing admirable eyes
like pencilled oculi of god,
is fluttering its court-stately waltz
towards
the lilac bush's exploding view.
the artist
who has sketched his chance
of the aesthetic l'existence,
could he envision
through the eyes
of frail
but most tenacious sylph
that path
leeway of th' luring bloom?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem