The candle burnt itself
Giving light to see around
All things in th room,
From time immerorial,
Like the life of a human,
The wick being the soul
And the wax being the body,
Slowly melting away,
A little wax remaining,
Like the body of a man,
The wick burning early,
Like the soul leaving early,
But taking nothing in return,
For its bright life made'
For people who are thankless.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem