When I became noble,
I started to write prose,
The thoughts in my mind,
How the world is devine,
A quest to bring fruits,
Apples, plums, and figs,
Of knowledge to anyone,
Willing to pluck that prize,
That golden ring from,
This merry-go-round,
Called life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem