The blood flows from the open wound,
Where tongue was bitten and pain ensued.
Down my throat the life blood spreads,
My stomach aches, I get weak in the head.
The hot, red flow moves on and out,
My clothing tinged red, my heart finds draught.
The pain burns on, a nail through flesh,
Yet the wound so red, no longer is fresh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem