Catapult the wiser sort into the fire,
Where they have been burning with skill.
The cemetery acquires them as pious ones,
Ready to think, ready to prey on others.
When the thicket showed us the way,
We saw people of the woods going out.
We should brake, possibly stop and miss
These wandering human-sheep of other faces.
Certainty requires fixed men to act in fixed ways,
When celebrations reenter the thoughts of the wild.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem