As dew dwells on a tiny leaf
Life flows with motley ribs
Singing the hymn of life’s loaf
We play the game till end comes
Becoming selfless body of a womb
An early song still lisping and unclear
Mingling with fancy throng while we bloom
Reaping it’s ripeness after many a year
Life is short and art is long
That’s the song of merry little bard
Think no future, past has all gone..
Woo the bottle and make it thy guide
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem