The fates have willed it,
so it shall be.
Now the light is lit.
The light is me.
Of the fates, the cruelest,
be the two that
twist our lifestrings, loomists.
The third cuts pain.
The third cuts pain away
and ends our lives,
but she does not hold sway
over her sisters.
Her sisters weave and twist
all life on earth.
So that, through the mist,
we become
confused.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem