Useful troops are pronouncing their names,
Loosely clasped, eagerly submitted;
Let the chase be on, let them come to the kitchen
So that worries disappear, so that replies are cast.
Resenting them is the heart and all its blood,
Pumping iron and redness, like the books.
Audible and sensible, the words are spoken,
You are a blacksmith, a yoke is frowning at me
For it was once a chick, from an egg.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem