Many the threats of tiny men(and women)
Like tweets of twittering birds
Making their plans with pots and pans
To boil their prince in oil
But the poison they made
Was spun like the braid
Of a maiden dancing a lea
All enemies round
Found homes in the ground
But the prince went fancy free
If nothing you've seen
Tells you which way to go
then maybe THAT's your destiny
...you call THIS art? ...yes...it'sart...Will...you accept it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem