On his way through the woods one winter night,
To warm himself through out night in the site,
He started colleting debris for burning,
More and more, unsure of wanted quantum,
Till he found himself at approaching dawn.
His toils became of no use to serve
And the debris was left and he left.
Some said that he failed to enjoy his fruits
That I contradict; he had his need served.
Don’t ridicule one who had unending ambitions.
22.06.2004
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem