I am a roamer, hoping from tree to tree,
Morning to evening, with friends, all glea;
Fruits and nuts at our beaktip, no need to plea,
Rivers and lanes all below, no worries, care free.
I can see men jostling in the streets, buzzling.
Rain or shine, they all, but time not stilling,
Scheming for 'morrow, buying and selling,
Grains, greens, meat, sweets and many hankering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem