Never turn an ear to God,
Never part a sea,
Never will I do a thing
For you do not love me.
Always I will frown at you-
From far across a room.
Never will I move a limb-
From bed before past noon.
When in line to join the saints-
Among God's holy number,
I'll be cast into the Lake.
When living, I'd just slumber.
Brows in grief and pestilence;
Now ashing, but I knew-
I never would be satisfied.
Still Here, I frown at you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem