A poet
wished to write
a beautiful song,
like a Rose,
Like a Tulip,
But
O poor him!
he ceased to be
before he could
write a verse.
Yesterday,
i passed by
the place
where the bard lies resting,
And
I saw
the families of
blooming Roses and Tulips
sprung
on his grave
and the birds
singing around.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem