Whatever nature has bestowed upon me
I am never satisfied and feel no gratitude
I complain and grumble
And on the soil grow a tree
It becomes big and tall
But never bears any flower or fruit
Of tranquillity and peace
I give up hope
And bury all expectations
No demand I put
But one fine morning I see
Trees are full of flowers
In plenty they bear fruits for me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem