In the gloaming, I am the shaven
Man, misboarded and trammeled
At my Lord's High Table;
I am His, a renounceful creature,
And must perform His Will.
He argues privately
That he must be martyred;
It marvels me. I demand,
Master, are there
No godsome ways? He laughs
It must be.
But Master, it will cast me in shame.
He says, you are my shaven-headed
Man, and a lamb like me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem