My Muse does not me bring riches, I seek;
A life of poverty with it comes meek;
I struggled with Poetry and my Rhymes,
Regardless of night/ day or other climes.
My inspirations most come from above;
These are the best poems and which I love;
These are the ones too, I don’t alter much;
For centuries, they can well stand as such.
I make some poems of my own design;
They aren’t the best always; so, I resign;
Whatever poem’s made, I shouldn’t alter,
Nor do I ever for money, barter.
All good poems that stand the test of time
Are inspired and perspired to rhyme.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem