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(This is copyed from Google. I am not intended to hurt the creator.) Not Kidding
Multicoloured in hue, I flee the sky and the deep earth; there is no place for me on the ground nor in any part of the poles. No one fears an exile as cruel as mine, but I make the world grow green with my rainy tears.
From the trunk of a willow and the scraped hide of a cow I am made. Suffering the fierce savagery of war I, with my own body, always save my bearer's body, unless death takes the man's life. What fierce soldier endures such a fate Or receives so many deadly wounds in war?
I am a faithful vigilant guardian, always watching the house; In the deep night, I walk through the unseeing shadows. For I do not lose the sight of my eyes, even in black caverns. Against the hateful thieves who ravage the stores of grain, I ambush, I silently set a snare of death. A roaming huntress, I invade the lairs of wild beasts, but I do not wish to chase fleeing herds alongside dogs who bark and bring cruel war against me.
I come in dewy drops from the wet sky, and grow fat in my fall through the rainy shower, but no hand can touch me, as I swim in the limpid water, for my delicate interior bursts at once from the touch and my fragile breath departs into thin air. Once, through the watery ways, in a great crowd, I led the companions and many fellows who share my same birth.
Black, curved, capacious and of beaten metal made, I hang, touching neither the sky nor the deep earth. Growing hot from fires and sometimes bubbling like a whirlpool, I suffer the twinned onslaught of a variable threat, as I endure the surging of water and the ferocious flames.
No one can see me or catch me in their palms. I spread the noisy sound of my voice quickly through the world; I can break to pieces the oak with my loud, crashing strength, As I beat against the high poles of the sky and traverse the fields.
Formed in a marvelous way, born without seed I loan my sweet breast with treasure from flowers; by my art the golden platters of kings grow yellow; always I bear the small, sharp spears of cruel war. Though I lack hands, my spear stings more cruelly than weapons forged by smiths.
Open-palmed hands formed me out of two substances. My inner core glows white, made of flax, or else shines bright, plundered from a slender rush. But when my outward body bursts into yellow flower, It pours forth, spewing flames, heat and fire As moist tears drop in profusion from my brows. Yet, in this way, I destroy the horrid shadows of night And soon my burned heart leaves behind only ashes.
I share a common fate with the sea,spinning the months around in alternate cycles. When the glory of my light-flowing form wanes so, too, the sea loses its swollen flood tides.
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Who would not be amazed by my strange lot? With my strength I bear a thousand forest oaks, But a slender needle at once pierces me, the bearer of such burdens; birds flying in the sky and fish swimming in the sea once took their first life from me; a third of the world is held in my power.
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