Cursing chaos moves away from grace,
As white paper lavishly leaps and spells,
Like the governing quill that matters to me.
The men produced and heard their laughter,
A green tangle of the forest grew slightly
To keep men from wooden aspects and types.
These concrete structures require many pistols,
Slipping on the bullets wilts the flowers
As the chaos moves further when the flowers died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem