She bore them eleven
But seven now in Heaven
Though said me before
That they now are four
Bad as sin stains
stained them to their brains
They gad-about the streets
Against life's good chosed sin's sweets
For good to them she told
To change as life unfolds
But four men too deaf
Changed not a newer leaf
I checked into the sky
And sighed a heavy 'why? '
Now at the eleventh hour
Now Mother's gone,
And age's rough upon their youth
Of all their lives wastings
They blame to mother's causings
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem