Pride not thy bod, thy face, thy sheen,
For thou art not the creator of such allure,
Labor not did you?
To create such acclaim,
That standing tall you tout?
Lower thy gaze,
Blessed art thee,
A recipient of His grace,
Embodied in this facade,
You are none other,
Recognize and respect the fragility of the case,
For wither shall we all to dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I loved your poem. Pride goes before a fall.