He needs just one shot,
Gunning from times that change,
Smoke drifts looking down on us.
We see his profession, tall manners
Of a tall story, one accusation is all.
He was tired, sitting in the smoke,
Reminders of sin had parted,
On the housed parts, their harnessing.
A tiring man was tired himself,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem