There was a fire that raged on.
It was a fire of calm.
All the children of mendz had it in their soul.
For there was a fire that came.
It's fury was untamed.
It was the fire of dread.
The magic word they looked for was lost in time.
The fire of calm found her voice.
To speak the word.
With her quivering voice slow and calm said, 'abalourdir.'
The fire of fury had gone out.
In it's place came beauty.
For now the children also had beauty in their soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem