I am an all-time exit of a session,
I am on larch.
I fend through the tares to see the oracle,
am not a round-about lord
white with girdle.
He with cherries and parships instructs;
a way, the only way,
God knows there’s no faithfulness.
I am on top mount Zion.
I cringe for nestle hair,
I broke real flagon,
I saw Iychee and gooseberries.
A priest has seen the oracle before now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem