There is no use in idle play
For the draconian way will fill
A void unheeded by Mother's milk
Sustaining those serpents born to bilk
Before they suck you and your soul dry
To climb up that misty mountain high
With three cheers and a soluble dream
An awareness that pulsates in seams
Shows currency can not be eaten
When everything else has been beaten
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem