Demand a ball of the year
That bounces when your sight
Has spent a pound.
Demand it out of luck for your body and mind.
This pound I spend, do not condemn it,
As the thief has been committed to praise.
My left wounds are the right,
As coins are like pains to collect.
We are indebted to your efforts
As many as there are in the world.
My options are sacred, my options are banned,
For the torture of the day is solid
And worse troubles may sway, for the only
Trouble has limited my life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem