'Twas a hell of a Hell they glimpsed, my son,
In superstitious days
When cultured man had scarce begun
To shed barbaric ways:
With gridirons set above the flame
For naughty gentlemen.
Who uttered lies that earned them blame
And righteous folk condemn.
'Twas a terrible sort of a Hell, my son,
That crude man pictured then.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem