eina!
it's awkward,
yes it is,
in silence
of the night,
stood over the moon,
after the long deeps,
and ado.
eina!
i'm done to groan,
and sick of grones,
but i can't let myself vies,
vies for life.
as my eies can't carry more,
and my tears won't dropp more,
as i struggle for moneth,
the moneth of vies.
yes.
i am a vann.
stood weakly in front of the battle line,
battle for myself
the only sword that i have,
it only a vial of physick,
but i know,
all of these vies,
have all the reason,
reason for one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem