Although my bed is the hard, cold ground,
Rocks for pillows when they can be found,
With moon and stars blanketing over me,
I am not denied what still can be.
The air I breathe is mine alone.
Tomorrows to be are mine to own,
To better myself should I survive
Life's injustices while still alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem