I am love's Savant
Of perilous divining;
No simpering hierophant,
Of the desperately climbing.
For love arrives naked,
Sans cloak or cloche,
While love's finger beckons,
For me to come close.
I'm privy to his prophecy;
To the keyholes I tiptoe,
Where I see the aristocracy-
In flagrante delicto.
As his scribe, I'm resigned
To write impassioned words;
Still, desires will not rewind-
Even though they be absurd.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem