Like how a child gets born onto the earth,
Like how a dormant seed bursts forth as sprouts,
Like how the babe gains elephantine girth,
My poems escape from my heart in bouts.
Like how the dawn brings on the mist and dew,
Like how the clouds shower the earth with rain,
Like how the sun scorches the scalps anew,
My poems are made again and again.
Like how a famine strikes a land all rich,
Like how the autumn wind blows leaves off trees,
Like how the Aeolian harp can one bewitch,
My poems do tricks with incredible ease.
O God, preserve my wings, my lute, my muse!
And let the earthlings’ minds and hearts enthuse.