To end in a slur like a fool
It clings me forth
It shows as if you the owner
Never realize what is before
Or behind you
It finds its way
and stables by your back
Watch out!
It says after piercing
Its hacksaw
To end in a slur like grimace of pain
It really takes the shape
Of the Lion
On ends the vision is an idea
Of calling the rays of deer
My lord, my lord to yourself
So when prayers were
in a rocked box
It sounds as if He is silent
Ending in a slur of death
Is the test results
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem