That is what they call white,
The colour of their right,
I'm in query this night.
Dream't that not correct.
I’ve heard it at every site,
Eat them in each plate,
Always it called bright.
Others and me do not like,
Who to end this Mighty,
Are we satisfied with that shirt?
0r we need more than our faith?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem