More than where he is
At present, chair-weighed.
Afar, and in time, too.
And lighter conveyed!
Of what for it spins
Unwheeled, a vortex.
With imaginative gusto.
Quickness, no trace leaves.
Not dust, nor blown corn sheaves.
For no sky does vex.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem