Tonight the real clues approach the detective,
Angry images of a god parade the temple,
Forces are at work eventually.
We matter to themselves as a party,
The godly forceps, these godly powers.
Yet anger creeps into the rhyme,
A poem is incomplete and unfair,
Yet the irate shepherd shall carry his sheep
Back with haste to half-complete the poetry.
To feel worshipful we must complete the duty
Daring us tonight, to speak with fists
As far as dollies and their fairy-talk.
This poem concentrates on the
Suspicions held by the detective.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem