The rose in its bud
lie in rocky mounts so high
Out of reach in its place
nay near nay nigh
To have it near my cheek
is just a wish needs a cry
Look at me, under your stem
just seeking a bless of your dew
Poor we are and dreams
are all what we have in a few
May for us God let you be
with your blesses every day of new
Praising shall I be and
written in my destiny
For your beauty in thy
crown of colors so calmly
But oh God, poor we are
and dreams what we have in custody
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem