V
I am an earthen pitcher
And Thou my Potter.
It is Thou who givest a new shape to some clay.
Methinks the pitcher feels
That it will not remain for ever.
It will get a stumble
And will break into pieces in courses of time,
Oh! life is fugacious.
(From The Ferryman)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem