precedes, a dream a fantasy,
or a witches spell, and if I go to
hell, gets there before I do,
is no consolation,
though no friend, the unwanted companion,
does not warn, nor caution his host,
I want a spot of distinguished birth,
one that can predict well in advance,
will be loyal, give me riches and
wishes, happiness and health,
alas on hearing my demands,
the spot, before my eye vanished
diappeared, complaining that
I expected too much and was too greedy,
I retorted, I am only human,
Spotless Shimon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem