We have lived the age of translation,
when not empty rock,
but life is translated into... -
(on crumbs, and kisslinger crumbles),
(the tar out of poor cotton),
(on faith and view from the window).
Have we lived?have we translated? -
What there Europe threatened? -
what are they composed of words? -
( so cold, as if starless),
( so early, that empty and late),
(so late, that divide on two).
Something to share, an interpreter? -
To echo a lot of points? -
Cold or hot? -
what, to heights, dilemma! -
and life sticks out like a gem,
and rolls with slides, as the ball.
The swamp? is a time of transition? -
just bad weather,
and you yourself are full of insomnia,
and no Latin evil language,
what copper sounds like in a foreign land,
like the echo of the fading waves.
Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.