Good green and giving friend,
To little people is the word;
Go to travel on a horse fetching wind,
With wings it uplifts the soul above the heavens.
If steel is the green rod, we are natural
As destroying may be a hammer of devilry.
Gold is the sight of the good deity,
It shines fresh every morning for good.
Treasure is never found or discovered
But merely exhibited from the pouch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem