By providence
Great opulence
At other time destitute.
No, no
Nothing to rejoice
Nothing to morose.
Speculative philosophy
Failed at day light
Show not inner might.
Season and out of season
It is swollen
And it is dry at the same time.
Always we are blissful
As we are in truth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem