You pluck me
And throw on the path
Through which
Go it the martyrs, patriots,
Nationalists!
You pluck me, gardener
And throw away
To be strewn with
Through which cross it
The soldiers laying heir head
At the altar of the motherland!
You pluck me, gardener
Not to be for
Into the hands of lovers
Or into the hair braid
Bedecking it
Or flowers offered to gods!
But for the martyrs,
Nationalists and patriots
Who cross the ways
To lay their lives
For the motherland,
Pluck you to scatter with!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem