The nector poisoned the blood,
and the good Angel flicked like a bug.
The sense created mistake,
has now left guilty her fear to take.
Lies are mopped up to wring in a route,
to be capped in a bottle with no way out?
The witness of promise shaken with question,
explosions of carbon now lead to confession.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem