Locked up in isolation for 12 years
You have inspired so many peers
Nor destination nor location
You've longed to write your greatest beacon, The Scarlet Letter
With emotion and such devotion
Your scripts have been art
Like a fountain of knowledge you were
With so many feelings you stir
You stood tall as a tree
Amongst the forest were values
Writings were dropped like leaves
Your words were not hidden in your sleeves
As steady as you were
Relaxed as a cats purr
Family was in your mind
What else was there to find?
You were not nature but its creature
Successful with your opinions
Not a day wasted but words pasted
Literature was not just paper but an enormous label
You are the father of American literature
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem