Clad in shabby dress, stinks sweat,
A churlish who works day and night
In the field,
To speed up the pace of progress,
To continue the game of politics,
The destiny of kingdoms
Lies on his rough palms,
By dint of his being,
The kings are kings and
The queens are queens,
He is the father of civilization.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.