Two armies are facing each other
neither yields
Each soldier on one side
grips a crescent moon
the others have nothing
nowhere to flee
Yet there are so many of them
their shadows are blending
Above them the sun’s bee-hive
sings hymns to the summer
(The earth burns skyward
fetch the well in your jugs)
Two armies are battling
the smaller one is victorious
Translated by: Ewald Osers