We are indeed in the den of dons.
Counting to go in
Counting to go out
Our license is to count
In order to be
In the den
I have to cry to laugh
And fast to feast
Home is sweet
But the den is sweeter
Like vitamin A
In the den
I am called doctor
But I am judge
Indeed I am a doctor
The dons are done
They count that we may count
They fast that we may feast
I awe at sight
I awe inside
The den is open to all
For if you are not there
You are not here
And you will be nowhere
Hell of a paradise
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem