Mother's love ran merrily down
Until was built a block trough
Lament she held abaft the skin
Leaked tears via cracks as grief grew.
Anyhow, she kindly stays aloft
Par the bar, where green grows
En masse, the love and life we quaff
Repine not, would she ever to us.
Isn't it ours to do the rest?
Yeasty force is set astern the hold
Anon the rampart would roll to dust
Rage will pour down to wrap a shroud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem