I have a joy with reasoning,
As reasoning is my toy;
Fun objects poise and stammer,
Defeating the edges of the knife.
My adult gift is one wonder after
One pain or agony, distressed minds
Pick soles and souls from the height,
To run and endanger the mighty crowd.
I have to distill the learning of a hundred
Years, my weapon is the greatest fright;
To spell this side of the tragedy is to put
Pen to paper of white enigma, devastation.
I have a joy, with godliness,
To pray is to know, and to see is to go;
Pilgrims flock dutifully as weirdness sets in,
As fast as birds of prey, and animals of dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem