Willingly we succumb to the grab
Soon we get tired of the little grip
Too tight, it turns out to be a grasp
Here emerges another quite glib
Charges the old squad of a glut
Plays switches let all see a glint
The void yields not to fly's gleam
Grudge leads to lifting with a grunt
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem