Under the sun making hays of ideas
For raining days of no hays.
Enemies cluster as pots of locust swamp,
Praying for the very praying mantises me a fall
For I walk with my god.
Every weapon they fashion
I also shall wear
For with my god I treck
The earth to me smiled
The wind my horn tooth
Non shall me prevail
As with my god I walk
Sacred songs...
Sacred pen...
Oh! my sacred poem
As king my prevails.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the earth to me smile, good one.