Small verse, small thoughts,
The grinding suffering
Of the Muse is
Quasi-martyrdom.
Yet as a careful parent
Keeping her children in
Discipline
The Muse starts for her Poet Seers
The discipline of suffering.
Yet
In recompense forth
She bring
The moon, the stars,
The silences of night
And
quiet seas and oceans
immense
and nightingales that sing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem