I regret that I have failed to present
My verses
As beautiful as the flowers are
Made from light and joy,
As lovely as they look on,
I am sorry, very-very sorry to admit it
That my verses are not like.
Had I at least penetrated innocence and ignorance
Of a childish heart,
I would have, would have called myself
A writer of verse,
But that too I have failed,
Failed in depicting it.
What was it most important that I had be good,
But that much good and chaste could not,
I am a man in my worldliness
Going after name and fame,
Unmindful of human virtues,
Charity and chastity
So ennobling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem