To envy is to die for the sport,
The block of wood was broken
So faster than the wood of the heavens,
Let their spices run deep.
A river has spun its mass,
The biology of citizens has been praised
By the authors of denigrated men,
Those same people of the elect.
To envy is to die for the sport,
My wooden legs have eggs that marry
With those in hiding, the lying
Is on more for the heavens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem