Come along, young boy of the woods,
Come in the end to faint on wounds of blood,
To be as fine as a death of a loose knot being untied,
As you are negative and positive on the attitude you take in life.
Go to the bed of roses and smell awe and repugnance,
Love and hatred, and then live with these.
Love him and his wife just as roses and foxgloves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem