Men with treasures know no rest
Their nights are as brief as winks
So full of worries are their days
Even unto a falling needle sound
Or the blowing whirr of passing winds
Their hair rise from fear of loss
Him, the master turned slave to self
Of things earned and owned
He rather keep awake and wait
To guard his wealth from being snatched
See how tall the walls he builds
Just to hedge himself from all
His treasure mine is his chest of dreams
Yet tis so hard to find him joy
Of all precious things his money buys
His heart still yearns for love to come
Every cent he opts to count and stash
Has failed to won him the heart he loves
He placed his wealth on things that wane
Based his worth on things prized
In all his pursuit with gifts and tokens
He now knows love is not for sale
Though its treasures are hidden to the eye
Their glitters is only known to the heart loved
So place your treasure in your heart
Where no robbers descend
Burry your chest of dreams in there
Far and safe from snatching hands
Let no money give value to love
Rather count her worth by her deeds
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem