His anger raged and raged in march;
April gone, May peaked, defeating arch.
The water of hot rice wasn't starch.
Yet, the boil raged and raged in march.
Summer, winter-both missed the notch;
his anger raged and raged to march.
Calmness did not live to see the torch
When the hearse drove by subsequent march.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem