He knew this moment will come someday
But never knew would be the month of May
To measure his joy, need a deep drenched sky
Because not often does he feel this high
Each day of his life, an hour of poetry
He task so much, thinking of a story
Now his efforts has finally paid off
His writing has grown with much flowery buff
He writes with ease as if that's all to it
All along, Afflatus calls him to sit
Without a strain he is tranced into wordly realm
A chunk of time to help him reach the helm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem