The world is full with novelty, but only one will always stay in fashion,
There is no greater wonder one could find on Earth, than wonder of love passion.

Give me chariot with horses, bearing likeness of Pegasus,
I would soar on their wings, reaching top of mount Parnassus.
I would leave the Rocinante under care of Sancho Panza,
I'd forget of Dulcinea, drop romance unfinished stanza.

My poetic inspiration would uplift me over prose,
I would stretch my hands in trying to embrace the sinful Earth.
All the planet's mortal dwellers I would make cry, pray and curse.
May my art of playing lyre be Apollo's cheering worth.

As reward God gives to Poet magic gift of divine seer,
To foretell its own fortune to the readers and his peers.
But the poetry is powerless, can't protect the bard from death,
Will not shield from fateful ending, will not hide from cruel chase.

Pity is, but wings of glory can not change life's fatal bound.
Will not notice that dead rider dropped from saddle and fell down,
Horses will continue running with their cruel pace in keeping.
Only Muse, the Dulcinea, will shed tears in mournful weeping.

To those, who wasn't loved enough, in fullest measure,
I dedicate my lines to ones being dumped, not treasured.
So many broken hearts are hurt, so plenty,
Always alone and sad, loveless and empty.
But for despair, though, there is no reason,
And Spring will come after cold winter season.

Even though tightly fits into the sphere certain cube,
Rejected she his love, because he is primitive and rude:
"Alliance between us would really be looking very strange,
I am developed fully, your intellect stands far below my range!"

I wander through the resting place of love, the abode of disappointed hopes.
Grass of oblivion can't be found on this ground, there is no pain relieving herbs.
So many restless hearts are buried here, lying abandoned, cheated, burnt.
Not once nostalgia, for the feast of memory, will ask me to this place return.

Once to triangle said oval: "There is no merit in answering by blow to a blow.
In figure of your character itself laid is the foundation of your failure, though.
I smoothly bend all obstacles around, while you are shaping all misfortunes of your fate.
Being hurt by cornering yourself is your distinctive trait."

Sraight line is boastful, being so righteously direct.
It thinks of self as borderless, is always forward towards progress aimed,
Deceived by nature's false simplicity, by pride of ignorance being blinded bad,
Just doesn't know, that eventually it comes full circle also at the end.