Food is of geese, blood and guts,
Under this river of blood and ancestry.
Friendly relationships come forth when adjusted
By the food granted by the authors of books
And the very changers of uniform.
Ichor, a fluid of the Gods, runs through it all,
The body of drugs and violence,
To shatter and obey, to be munched and abstained,
Like lionesses.
Food is critical, it needs a message
So that you abide by the rules of music and wizardry.
Food is of the wizards and witches, fully able
To delight and appal and be rejected.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful poetry shared! ! ! well done..........