Two paths diverged because it was cold,
I marked the real destination on the map;
Somewhere there was a road of significance,
It had made all the congregation.
The roses of the roads were a proof,
That a congregation mattered,
We danced around and spat at the grass,
To sound like matters withdrawn.
At midday the fields struck camp,
A goal for the war was around in skill.
Roses fathered us when we were young,
Flowers sold their mark soon enough.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem