Illegal lust,
As a sheep before its shearers is silent;
Stripes!
Bruised,
Stricken,
Smitten;
With hatred and war.
Wrath! !
Grieved in spirit;
Tossed and afflicted,
Liker the muse of the blacksmith who fans the coals into flame! ! !
And, winckedness today forges on war.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem