We welcome the past to ride a fortune,
Fixing places of worship, the elaboration.
Much complains for the memory to last,
It is about remembering a major fast
That leads to grace, character and money,
Honey is this, money is this and insanity.
We ride on the train of life, a school too tight,
Mighty rivers flow from your garden of light.
They are religion we trust, of civil obedience,
So righteous are their deeds, then the innocence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem