While you sling
That mud on me
Your own hands
Can't be dirt free
You have done it
In the past
Futile exercise
To bury me fast
But don't you know
I am that marshy land
Just another step
And you get sucked in
My end will come
Only when ordained
Don't try to rush
For you are lost
And from my death
There is nothing
Left to gain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem