Those obsessions I must bop,
Rise up to give each a chop.
So do and put to a stop.
Such tortures that had me drop
To the point, my mind, they flop.
Within for myself to pop
Good inclinations, and crop
For my good to reach its top
With certain reason I prop.
I must carry on then hop
To the edge of faith I cop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem