It is me who on tender shoulders,
Holding a wood stick, balancing,
A poor who is passing a hell bridge,
Either pass it I shall,
Or down fall I shall.
Should I pass the angels
And the paradise are mine,
Should I fall my sweet flesh,
To crows and vultures belongs. -
It is me who on tender shoulders,
Holding a wood stick, balancing,
A poor who is passing a hell bridge,
Either pass it I shall,
Or down fall I shall.
Should I pass the angels
And the paradise are mine,
Should I fall my sweet flesh,
To crows and vultures belongs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem