I am not perfect as the tulips with which i worship,
I have my own flaws and blemishes,
I am a lonely traveler of this world,
My garments are torn and tattered,
My feet have been wounded by thorns,
Where will i get the beauty of a tulip?
the unending loveliness of a momentary life?
My gift for you is my heart.
I have all my joy and sadness engraved inside it,
Here love springs up struggling towards an immoral life,
In this heart lies an imperfection that is noble,
If my worship is finished, my almighty,
accept me as your own for the my last days on earth!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem