A man has his lot to thank
When he has one to love.
Love is a handsome distraction,
From irksome matters of the heart,
Let he that owns it, pride himself in that.
That i had myself a love,
A place to which my heart could go,
When upon it, are oddities bestowed,
An escape from material pain,
Perhaps my lot i would thank alot.
Whereupon we have none,
A man must learn to love himself.
To be content in all
And the happiness he alone can invoke,
I cannot however think myself content,
For there is no solace in aloneness
And content, sometimes an excuse for failin to try.
Let he that has love, however,
Not pride himself gifted with much,
For therein lies its deceit,
For love must be fed and grown,
From the very matters from
Which it leads your mind escape.
That i had myself a love
- a thought that not too often cross my mind-
I could perhaps understand its folishness there of.
But i now lay no claim to none,
Nor wish i dearly for one,
But place my discontent on the,
Insatiable quest of a youthful heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem