It was great fun,
to be with parra bats
in a camp.
Those men
know no fear
(and any reason)
and every one
wanted to take a beret,
to claim fourteen days furlough.
Still cooking water runs
and glowing irons hit
the attacking parras back,
and chains fly
twisting through the air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem