My uncle was a man who was rich in wealth but poor in management
With every meal on the house and and every free boarding house built
And every stranger that had one of his shirts on their backs
He died with no heirs or fortune to be inherited, penniless as a pauper
For while no amount of money can buy happiness, the currency of loving kindness can
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wouldn't the world be an awesome place to live if everyone strives to be like this man? Good storytelling skills here