Old Adam squatting in his garden
Planting beans and peas,
His bony flesh burnt by the sun,
Still yearning for a breeze.
He digs a hole with a bone,
Inserts a precious bean;
Who ever thought that paradise
Would be so hard and mean?
Wisdom opened up his eyes
And made of him a God,
But left him stabbing with his knife
The dry and broken sod.
A God upon the field of Man
Without eternal life, ,
Conscious of his mortal span,
Aware of Jahweh's spite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem