The history of our lives waves its wand,
The storm so telling of religion is unleashed.
We are exactly measuring the wealth so spent
By those who wet entrances into the climate.
It is a climbing nature, the weather is cold
Sometimes, but then again hot;
But the climate stays with us.
Any rain will write us into debt,
Told by the one who owns money.
The history of our lives has caused
The weather, and this I tell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem