Unseasoned with age
Fumed with rage
Yet I must fill this page
Or my thoughts I shall lock up in a cage
Until I become of age
Its appalling or rather amazing wisdom does not wait on age
But comes to whomever him summons
The beauty of thoughts put in writing
Yet its ugliness many see
Shall I hence be surprised
If my lines be tossed back at me?
Though society may not accept all I have to say
Yet the price of hearing it, a dime they must pay
And if my lines be thrown out or at me
This fountain of rhymes never ceases to be
Many more shall flow from hither
and never shall it wither
For until I am no more
You shall be given even more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem