Say not the good things about me when I am dead
Of what reward is a good report to my carcass
Things hid from me when I could breathe
Take your fill of drink and food
The reward of your false nice report
It may be your last who knows.
(Wednesday 11th December,2019,9.24pm)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you Roy for your comment