Bailiff, the right hand
Of the local land lord
With robust body and face
Having long dark mustache.
The weighty walk
Terrifies young and old
Curbs all faith, unity, sanctity
Also the hard earn crops
From reaping ground
With savage mind.
Flatterers orbit
Around steward's feet
To keep up their fidelity
With poisonous fang
Called his gang.
The dispassionate citizens
As if they are hens,
Meant for laying eggs
For some other to embezzle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem