There was a Youth
who be the grave
of his grand-father lingered
though
the dusk was wide
on wing
as the black bat
to demonstrate
the fading of a day
Said from underneath
A Voice, a dear Voice
whom the Youth recognized:
'Grandson tell the others
to help you arise me
to the former life'
Then sobbed the Grandson.
But the Angel of the Sword
in his loins
appeared
saying:
'Ah! though there be
descent
it help not the ancestor
however numerous.
Otherwise
a descent-less person
will unfairly fare'
The Youth understanding
Justice went away
with a sad heart
an a bent head
whose brain as yet
had understood all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem