One sheep is a prized animal,
That may have spoken words
We cannot distinguish but it can
Trust with its own form of intellect.
One sheep gifts us with stupid lessons,
That recur infinitely with patience,
Spreading the message of truth.
One sheep is now so precious
That we donate death to itself,
Fixing the wisdom of its entrails.
One sheep is not one lamb
Bearing slight news of torches
That shine young light,
The sheep are forgotten
When the lambs are born,
For we are with the children
Of this world, now that you are death.
Death is a solution to the weak and strong,
Both of them will die forgetting a trance.
The flock is to be kept hidden,
Like a shepherd good at rearing sheep,
Goodness is attached to the sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem