Gird up the loins of your mind,
Be sober and hope for the end;
All flesh is as grass and,
All the glory of man is as flowers:
It will all wither away.
Malice, guile, hypocrisy, envy and evil speaking;
Like newborn babies who,
Long for the sincere milk of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem