How much are words like bridges-
Or fires, to cut a swathe,
Some distances not traveled;
Last stop, where love got off.
How often time's the bludgeon
That knocks us to our knees,
While heavy trains keeps coming;
While the smoke leaves on the breeze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Those last two lines rumble and roll with an invisible force, just like an old run-away train!