You accuse them of guilt and theft,
Of worried statements and mild skill.
Your desks of wisdom are contained in a box,
A box is always full of statements that lock.
Guilty people are like thieves, often called flocks,
Called sheep that mutter why they cry.
The lambs are like sweetness, but only sheep,
Their habits will cause us to shun and speak.
This habit carried anxiety and absoluteness,
My habit is of worry for those in worry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem