There's a voice in her head
It screams of piled up work
A rebuke at the voice:
'Can't you see I am busy? '
Oh yes, she is busy.
Dreaming of how things could be
If only they could be so,
How glad would she be!
The tower of pending drudgery
Threatens to crumble down
Upon this splendid loafer
About to lose her sight.
At the brink of blindness
The poor eyes begin to See
That it's never too late
To set right her deeds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem