Your shame is that I wear it aught—to be Alive.
Knowing what I know — Man, 'I am the child.
But could I envy— you that I must trust.
This sack of soil and it's dust full each bag—
being undistinguished from all the rest.
Remembered once permitted—why it is, 'I am.
e.d.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem