For the starvation of the spirit I seek the wilderness,
For what is wisdom and unknown of the tree,
For the words that looms a man depth of a soul,
I ask forfeit as it may sound when may I speak,
For mount of a soul the descend of case off,
What is old spirit savaging left under the cold,
For when my turn comes to speak I say,
May one listen to how I speak and let the rest lay with leaves,
Young brother young brother no matter your race, color or creed,
You are my brother.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem