This burden I have worn like a crown of thorn's,
A king I never was,
And I grow cold like you and yonder are the tree's
That bare no fruit.
Enemies I have, there far and wide,
I won't give up and trampled down and I still rise.
Some did not reason well and my voice it rose,
Two words from whence they came a message told.
I made the clay, I made the vase,
The arrogance of some I have indured for year's not months.
The taxes they have collected for ten year's, on the home's that
We're built on land I sold.
All for the love of one a love for wine,
Forsaken not from hate but from a certain type of grape
The color of.
And still after all this time it still goes on.
While living in a cave at night in sleep, I see it all and what I see,
Is what I say,
And I hear them speak amongst themselves, as they ponder how.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem