O God, I cain't believe it's new-day,
Mystery art thy works, I cannot learn;
Thy providence, no man can repay;
With many treasures or which he earn,
But Sire, O God, see that I quave-
I slept o'ernight withno taste of food;
Within my seared-neck, my throat cleave
I'm now in kind of faint mood,
How this I suffer an ox's type?
My stomach cries and blood sickly seep;
When even would my farm ripe?
As barren lies my mother-sheep,
Mine nanny-goats gives no birth;
Blest me, For I ne'er begged before
So I remit my heavy debts;
I rely on my wife, bless her too more
Pardon me, if it be my foul sin,
Descend thy spirit, let it fill me in
Thou art my father, I'm reborn!
And today I become thine son.
Sounds very funny, you made me laugh this morning. God bless you friend
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Really funny, Allotey! ..........