Seven half-bloods shall answer the call 
To storm or fire, the world must fall 
An oath to keep with a final breath, 
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death A half-blood of the eldest gods 
shall reach sixteen against all odds 
And see the world in endless sleep 
The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap 
A single choice shall end his days 
Olympus to preserve or raze                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem