My clumsy poem on the inn-wall none cared to see.
With bird-droppings and moss's growth the letters were blotched away.
There came a guest with heart so full, that though a page to the Throne,
He did not grudge with his broidered coat to wipe off the dust, and read.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As vignettes his words shine thru - despite the translation.