A sea filled with ghosts
Following all young boats
Saying proudly death is to you
Everything seemed black not blue
One young boat said: “go,
Nothing would cut us or so;
Get back to your grave,
Do not pretend to be brave.”
Sun swore to kill them
To extract their big stem
Young boats laughed, but with tears
And threw all sharp golden spears
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Simply superb. Keep on composing.