A long quality works well like ice,
But my example is information for souls,
The object of my light is the item of sight,
A feeling has management of emotions.
Growth have activities of the personal race,
The faces of the team are short and stout.
We have words and dozens of kites
In the air that flies with birds that cry and die.
The source of wights is against the nose,
A wight will wipe your face with affection.
The faces have deemed fate as an organisation,
It seats itself down on the throne of life,
A forgettable mode for the created man
Who lives in the earth and soil.
One has quantity with quality so supreme,
This side of the mountain is full of wood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem