This beguile strange woman in her forties and I am sorry that I have heard forties are the naughtiest.
She begs not charity and she has enough money.
Even though the solitude and suffering.
The precious money could help her to replace solace?
Under the burning Sun and freezing Moon
Still she needs the warmth.
Only an honest human blanket could minimize her nauseous feelings.
Where do they find this pedigree?
She seeks a pure bred Man in her sojourn
And still she struggles to find the needle in a haystack.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem