With thy presence nature's fed
Thy too clean the nature's bed
But all those favors are volatile
That take with them what makes earth fertile
Through the atmosphere thy droplets shoot
Onto leaves, roll down the stem, slaughter the thirsty of a root
But soon transpire, adventure in a hurry
And accompany thick pale clouds that slow and tarry
That lamp so generous to provide us light
But soon so cruel stealing the moist reserved for the night
Thou aren't king, but trade so we both gain
While the kind give, expecting nothing in return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem