Peace is a soldier of the heavenly night,
Hope is arriving from the mothers who deny
The child of the righteous kind,
But then turn into divine nature of the highest kind.
For when do greedy ones become lost?
For where do the natural men become humans?
In this clay we shall become loaded with sin
And this sin thrives along the line of force to
Be called motion. Existing by the heart
Is laughter of the hero and his baby-team.
Peace is a war-like substance if denied by the
Fathers of mighty habits, of mighty caresses.
This time, school must be freedom of the song,
Life angelically inspires the ones on the floor,
The ground will be joined to complete a fall,
The floor seems fleeting and bold, other-worldly.
Nature keeps its trust with musical wishes,
Lost by the babies of the wind and wine,
Music is about with war and feeling of joy,
Musical men seem troubled by the anagrams
Swiftly joining us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem