To abhor him sides with evil looking people,
Ablutions are made by the priests for their prayers.
To abhor them is to love them, in ways of good,
For therapy arises for the able, the good in ways.
Priests spoil the time when they fight, fighting prospers
Inwardly, too considerably, like a mound of water and ice.
Marching, the cavalry sends itself through the waters of the land,
A camcorder calls its picture to us in a campaign,
To carry music when aloud and allowed,
The battle of the men of war is afire, with abhorrences,
War measures too supreme by the commander of the forces.
It will escalate beyond our vision, to abhor priesthood is wrong;
It is a comet of warriors that the priest is abhorring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem