Food between the mouth and lungs is godly
All due to your breathing, and this sea of the night
Travels like few ought to, talking the good cutting talk
Under the sometimes blushing sun,
Triumphant is the result.
Children of the side are like mountains to complain,
Food inside is directed at the body of the deceiver,
The children invoke their hearing and clearing,
So that care enters the heart due to the hunting of dire
Circumstances so ready and meek.
Those who bother and direct their health to affairs
Of the heart are jesters of the heavenly kind,
Soon their talk breaks into bits and pieces,
Solid acts are of the streams and brooks,
Sighing is the result of the heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem