In the course of time
A child was taken up as before,
Who made a living answer
And should have peace now.
Farming his bit of land
He was the young, that should
Be sent to college
For a long string of tales.
I never saw a child
About curses and souls,
His fancy was but for heaps
Of laughter, in patience.
Fifty times a day he wept
For work was a fulltime wrong,
He flung the paper into the bin,
He had ways too tough.
Teaching made him linger
And so he reformed to the best,
Pride and gratitude he became,
An adult man was his inclination.
Relentless times sought him,
Yet he still did not suffer
Like the children of the farm,
Who never suffered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem