The balls are revolving like fireballs
Shrinking and returning with their own fire;
Burden has its look, little burden has its look,
For it sways and says little by little
So that one day your worries shall stay.
Let bother never enter for your
Heavenly pleasure, for you are a sire
Of magnificence.
Let souls ride the heavens in their golden
Nature, of such slight glint of heaven.
Oil will never be joined, for anointed
Beings complain compared to your
Divinity, offering more and more and more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
heavenly pleasures we can get here, good writing.