Yet....You are not surprised happy...in the flower,
that....the neck it does upon the frost...
and shimmer in posies perhaps...
accidentally in that...the play of power.
The assassin of the blond sun crosses.
The sun is not perturbed....it advances,
separated in order to measure from another good day,
because of 'God' himself are you...kissed...approval.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem