He is a man with a heart,
Which shelters humbly in its cage, where at.
In that little hut,
He wears some a hat.
He dances to the rhythm of the world,
But the beat is at times wild.
And so he rests his hope upon the word.
He is a man In the streets,
Kind enough to those he meets.
He can afford anything but a misprint.
For words to him, are a glowing splint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem