Business of being busy
Is the greatest business
For, it never likes a man
To show any idleness
In the orchard of pleasure
Man collects leaves of pain
Dry and lifeless they are
As the desert without rain
In the crowd of all known
Man feels himself unknown
And in search of loving one
He finds only furious frown
By and by he loses all peace
And filled with utter confusion
Although he commits error
Yet he doesn’t make confession
At the time of his departure
He feels deeply bothered
Why he did not obey his God
Forgetting what He Ordered
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked the way you began this poem, Business of being busy is the greatest business... Good poem, can be polished a bit more...