Beautiful is the world,
In my vision,
Tender is the the sun,
In the mornings season,
Pretty is this rhyme,
In the pleasureful time,
But when you walk to a griefy state,
You would not like but hate,
To change your state,
Is not your fate,
Why because, a seed decides the tree,
Bee decides the honey,
Declare yourself free,
And be happy without any richness, treasure or money.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem