by our will
there springs
our fatigue-
able days
an ever work-
man's limb
lays dead
half-spirited
half-spent life
of industry
what's left
by our will
we feel
half-dead
down midnight's moon
and howl-
complain
of our will
by the day
and no one but me
who thanks
my broken limb
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem