What my mouth has done using your name.
Which is why it does not know the method of it's having.
My eye once alive was with the blind person.
Being kind it started with my mind.
Wings upon which antisapation is forgotten.
I made you my in from itself from one method.
That fire of decernment.
And I wrote the first blue and pink petaled faint line,
without the pure substance do to faint nonsense.
Of someone who does not know pure intelligence at all.
Whether I should have said and something whether heat,
and the remote place where I saw it all suddenly.
Like the yellow yolk it is done and spread out opened.
The shadow which is driven out using the arrow,
fire and the flower which are closely examined.
Hoist day and night, from the outer.
And I do it to do to you, through you I have lived.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem