A boy had taken a form,
Of partaking in a sport.
The game is aiding young wits,
That'd not being exposed to tricks.
The boy had spoken to his
Mother, to prepare his choiced delicacy.
And she did strictly to suit
His wills, bones and infant wits.
He ate, drank, merried and set
For the track and merge with his sect.
Being called on, ferry like he
Dashed amidst his pairs and made a lead.
As he ran, stomach made sound
Like the humming bees and had him on the ground.
He was then taken over by
They he'd some secs ago, passed by.
The next day, after his bath,
He'd eaten as much again for the path.
And when he again tried his
Soles on the earth, his stomach, the earth kissed.
When he ate little of the
Meal, he could overtake, maintained his pace and win:
The more you possess you fall,
Possess little, maintain in and in all phases you'll be tall.
18: 03: 17: 18: 09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem