He has a wound for a heart.
A tear for an eye.
He is, mark well, love-begotten.
Pitying's soft one.
In the sky's convulsing for
Earth's hope-dried relief
Is heard that mortal frailness.
That godly fitness!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
godly fitness, good write, a lot of thanks