Ishthar, the mother of all goddess:
Eating pigs, hallowing incense.
Thy fruit has extended to easter,
Draging many souls to destruction's fiesta.
You've taken what you can't return:
Even precious souls have you, turn after turn:
But you shall forever in the lake of fire boil.
17: 11: 18: 16: 17
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem