Tales tattled and told to sell or barter,
Are not the ones recommended to be eager to keep.
Not if the telling of them make the innocent weep.
Since resentments kept can grow deep.
And the price one pays for telling tales to tattle,
Has a way to come back to rattle one's peace...
In a way that the teller had wished never altered,
To utter as told to sell to be sold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem