Do not cut down
The ladder that
Led you up a tree
Do no bite the finger
That feeds you
Glue the benevolence
Of others in your heart
And from that lot
Let it radiate to the world
For that purpose
Nature allowed a legion
Of men on earth
And not a single man
In the garden of yore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is a need in politics for folk of moral fibre, for those with well-tuned maxims may hold their heads above the herd but is their writ in cold hard stone society's last word?