A militant man accepts nobody in the rows of exceptions,
Microsurgery is needed by the experts when they see him.
Metres of expiration shall lend a hand to the weak of hand,
But a man so inquisitive shall hear of nobody in particular.
Nothing by the muse shall be accepted,
Nobody ethically reasons but the moralist.
His idea of fun concerns us when he is felt,
Then morals are far too furious in the light of the moon
And then sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem