In the holiest of climes
where the vines to heaven climb
the sweetest fall of rain
becomes sour juice of lime.
And the rainfall mercy clement
becomes the sour juice of lemon.
So did the words of peaceful
Master
become the force of
warmonger pastors..
Soon these clerics
too will be aligned
by the God of the astras
.. the God of the asters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem