There will not
Be left
Too
Many
That
Will
Contest
And
Then
We
See
The
Games
Dry
Weary
As
The sun-baked
Summer
Time:
We see
Drought
Parched
Throat
Suffering
And
Pain
But
Greatest
Suffering
The
More
Biting
Pinching
The
Slow
Slow
Game
And
The
Time
Artful
Passes
Passes
Passes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem