One is not born a driven snow,
'All, said He, have sinned',
But plausibility slightly emerged,
Like tiptoe in the hid and seek,
Till monsters transformed,
And paragon he becomes.
Nigh, you a saviour,
Virtuous and worthy,
Mirroring the goodness,
That salts the paradise earth.
Why, I ask silently,
That salt loses its saltiness,
And in salvation, there's savagery,
Business is only the thought,
In Holy place, our last hope.
A burden is brought, as ordered,
But replaced with heavy-laden?
I charge thee:
Thou the ministers,
Thou preachers,
For the preacher is coming,
Not to preach but priest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem