For her who bothers not rest or comfort
Nor forth on in slumber spite weariness
As when cough my throat catch
Succor bring as toss on and forth
For she who bothers not gold or treasure
Nor dost robes thought hers rob
When a vain my glimpse hold
Sell jewelries hers to tend needs mine
For she who submit pleasure to vessel unto world
My feet pon earth before walk could
My mutterings grasp before could talk
And her hands my life mold in bloom
Give her sight lord to see me blossom
And strong hands to eat labored fruit
Light that which delighters her
For service hers' Lord only could pay
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem