Words are acts in friendship, in common language,
We carry out tasks for the joke and story,
Holes in the ground are worth filling
As death is again at service, and death is willing.
Gold is found there, it serves the purpose of God,
The purpose is to exist and dissolve venom that describes,
It is poison that bites your head and hands
Like a golden bee and a stinging wasp.
Words shall direct their effort, and they swing from place to place.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem