I've no master
In a lofty mansion
Forgiving wrongs,
Addressing my transgressions,
Throwing my daily sustenance
To be foraged before the dogs;
All-powerful and glory-ridden.
That's reserved for the down-trodden,
Praying from boxes,
Lucky to inherit the wind,
They're told.
But don't bank on it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So true and poignant. Don't bank on it for sure. Thanks for sharing.