I see before me a list of great poets - dead.
And sobering, strange thoughts are sped.
For I know that though my name shall not appear,
yet my end-date too draws near.
This sorry state called life - full of fear;
'twill be good to depart it to safety clear.
But hurry me not from this lonely abode,
for much I love in it - and 'tis equally hallowed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem