To toil till strong thy parents as a soilder.
From whence thou were a toddler.
Oh thanks your mother for been with a soilder!
Salutations to thy father for been a great soilder.
What do I offer?
Can it ever be proper?
I know thou art not a pauper?
Or does thou cometh in need of my little feather?
Oh no! Not from a mediocre.
But wait to ponder, what do I have, that I offer?
I know I have not to offer.
Thine creator, our creator, has His bouquet of offerings for thou.
I believe, he has prepared a furnace of wonder for thou,
or does thou shaketh such bother from thy shoulder?
This is just the beginning forthwith!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
just the beginning, I like it, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.