My praise is in the seas,
in drifting weeds.
Floating away and none to please.
My praise is in the skies,
on misty clouds.
Away they had gone to pour their cries.
My praise is past stars,
how far away.
Packed inside lost forgotten jars.
My praise is none,
for alas you see,
I am none to praise.
Praise is for worth of the worthy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem