On the terrace, they sit, quiet and still,
A story flows, not of might, but of will.
Water from an earthen pot, cool and clear,
Wisdom in simplicity, no need for fear.
He sought perfection, chased the grand,
But found the answer in her weathered hand.
'Good enough, ' she whispered, 'is what we need,
For progress, not perfection, will plant the seed.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is when man (and woman, of course) started planting seeds that he started to evolve, culturally as well as physically