If be a crock of porridge,
A melamine of crispy snacks,
For good Ingestion
croquet or sandwiches,
Whether Jamaica or America,
Caribbean seaside village
Or Indian tillage,
Run not after ill gotten
Gold and fill your coffers.
Let us the taste drink the victuals
Of contentment, void of perjury
but Not of absinthe
To the passing of gods.
This is the city of Gold,
A pleasure of Marigold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful poem.................... thnx for sharing, , , and i also invite u to read mine specially hindi ones.......