It famously combines the narrow rivers,
Olives and pears are grown there with the Paradise of a
Ten year old.
When the dying and the so-called living
Are obliged to be martyrdom,
One recalls a taste of their suit of armor.
When the space and the time collide,
More than an action has been complete,
Idle are the statues and the furnace of a great man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem