Roses are borne on thorns.
Flowers are plucked by those who plant them.
some beasts feed on their young.
they're just hungry you can't blame them.
You might walk through the valley of burning coal and feel no pain.
You might wade through fiery thorns and no bloodstain.
But just dare to listen to the thoughts in my head and hear a voice say: ''I love you I love you, but I'll kill you.''
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a poem! Well written. The love we have for a chicken is for killing. Thanks for sharing