Guides, judge with the heart
As the church demands no hurt
To fellow men within your academic hut
They may die or lie low
They may shy away hiding below
If you snap, growl, and below
At them. Or still gossip and slander
Their esteem when they plunder
Their wisdom depends on you
You may pretend to sue
But brush under the shoe
To turn their brown blue
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem