Alone, I stir a cauldron of a brew,
The brew of Poesy, voluminous;
The aroma is great; so is the hue;
And formula-Inspiration, toil plus.
The consistency improves with more time;
The quantity has swollen to the brim;
The quality has been my concern prime.
The taste is set to my fancy and whim.
My magic- potion is more than ready;
And it will stay unspoilt over ages;
I feel not weary but happy, steady,
For time will pay me laurels as wages.
My job tho' more than half-done continues,
I'll get my limelight soon and hit the news.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem