Before the sad King
Sang the minstrel.
In the vast hall
They were alone
The one to sadness
As a King of desires
Unbounded.
The other as the servant
Smiled
And sang of made-up joy
Though as sad as his master
Was his heart.
For an hour
They stayed so.
Then
Of a sudden
Like to a light stick fire
arose
enraged the King
Bade him go.
And
On the face of the minstrel
There was writ the stark
Question: ‘Why?
Be this the reward of
My patient suffering? ’
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem