Tumultuous times require despair to rectify disaster,
The offerings made by the priests equal the onslaught
Of the devilish gods so concerning us.
Titanic waves plunge us in mortal worry,
Effects of youth endanger the young,
Kissing the perfect apples, wondering further.
Inside we decide on the future, the past has no question
But to mutter relief, grief is on our side.
Gardens of joy inhabited by some
Are like flowers in friendship and merriment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem