Sorcerers excel at casting,
Using up their spells.
Upon reaching the grassland,
Their wands acquire new spells.
They might have dragons,
They maybe have the hobgoblin,
But they draw upon the lore,
The ancient lore is set upon them.
Slippery mind, skilful mastery,
Are just talents of the forsaken.
Extreme events entail trade,
Coins disappear and appear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem