That burning in the cold of disheartening times,
The indomitable urge to fumble through the darkness
And think you've seen a spark of light;
The unstoppable clout to stick to the fight,
When the enemy dances on your head;
The rare choice to be by the the spirit led
And rejoicing broad in a slim chance of escape,
When all the physical ordains your inevitable doom!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem