[To the son of the gold miner]
*
Friend it`s raining and you're
In my house but I cannot host you
My heart is hospitable but my home is not
I do not even know how far you'd far
Under my leaking rafters
Welcome to the feel of nothingness
I guess you're cold friend,
But only for a moment
I've known it since I was two,
When mother left me for the graveside
A sad story on her teeth and
Bitter unsung melodies in her eyes
Assuage my grief therefore you who's
Smiled upon by fortune fair and have a green heart
I shall sing you again till love grows petals on your finger.
Till then have no contempt for my rags,
And do not be haughty when l come to
Your father to grovel for a bread