Many stride a way too hard, too eager,
Then eagles fly towards the target of deceit.
Lulling the birds of voices carries a charm,
Kicking and squealing left it, left the goal and charm.
Losing geese makes me a loser,
Birds are pretty and beautiful as the year.
Upper classes make the lower classes
Work hard as a labour too ancient and charming.
I have dictionaries to stain the carpet with wine,
My legs and feet run along the lines of fire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem