Golden green devastates me,
For the three musketeers were bedevilled,
And the gold of their silver whined to me,
Like the pledge of eternal sympathy.
One fears their voice,
Daily a sword is blown,
The reality of a day is upon us,
When the fate of the year
Lies in wait.
Gold and silver perspires like alchemists,
One day the real men are seen,
When the storm is blown to the fences,
Instilling hatred on the wholly unknown population.
Gold must fight and win,
Silver does bronze with glaze,
Varnishing is simple, but the order stays
Like a king on the throne,
Winning the hearts, dissolving the flesh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem