Vast story of pain, lulling the blamed,
Its deadliness was forcing my soldier to run
And hide, forming the reality behind his back;
Your backs are turned to him by the temperature.
Hosts of the party meddle with laughter,
Loathing you, and entering the gallows.
This goal has entered and created us,
For we cheerily are geese that gaggle.
Pain still causes us grief, as grief is pain,
And painfulness subdues the leaders;
A running man shuns us, and hidden from us
He attains climbing actions that revolve.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem