The needy are fed by impulse
The givers give by will
Not because of pity but other purpose
That they have gained above their will
Whether they worked on the bridge or the corn mill
The takers accept with cheer
The givers they see as dear
When they receive they see no one so near
They are not ready to share, not of fear
“Adapt adapt as Africa assimilate America
Adapt adapt as Africa to the sun
Give as you are given, so can your forever be a reaper”
The givers cry out to the needy as father to son
With this experience, they turn into seers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem