My master loved schedules, precision, exactness.
He hated the flexible fluidity of wine-stained, mule buyers
To shame them he ventured to vocative vocation
Fashioning furniture sure to outlast them
But I was his masterpiece, all must admit
for I had embodied his publicized prophecy:
All men must die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem