In times of war, be still as the
trees, subtle as the wind. Coil
like water and adapt to the nature
of all conditions. The rising of
loathing is the sign of an ambush,
so count the cost and attack like
thunderbolt. In all battle there
is resistance but the supreme glory
lays in resurrecting again after
each defeat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem