I shall be golden in admiration for the boastful,
I shall chop the competitors in town once they speak
And sprint to their likenesses, little has been clapped.
The bow of the coughing men and women
Is a brake to the overall history of moments.
I want to choke with blind borrowing.
This bounce in the boring air blots out boxes,
For the causes of the war are uncertain,
Little answers stay in the report that ensues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem