Who sat on my Valley of Desolation
and made me sick out of superbia
and gave me the hit of rueful living.
The scene of meadows and woods one
far more better than the of life.
I cried for my place and incapacitatedly
ran down the footprint of commoner.
The edge of the cliff made me perceive
the demarcation between life and death.
Between grief and relief.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem