Beneath the thunder cloud the storm
Growls – angry door of coming night
And of the flashing pink twilight.
The verses sound but the voice
Of the Poet Seer though rising
Loud and hoarse against the heavens groans.
And in the colored amethyst of the wild
Looms large and angry a mist of green
Envy of that which has long been.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem