Youthful Jack Robinson lived his
Years before his days were half
Spent.
Just like the little busy bee,
Always in haste with much speed
Not even a brief stop! To savour
Nature's beauty and harmony.
Poor Jack's flesh could take it no more.
One day he was found stone cold,
At his barn resting in peace.
Scribbled on his tombstone was:
'Here was a man who dedicate
His life to his work'He passed
On at a ripe youthful age of 40
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem