Boy
Fortune had smiled,
Upon the likes of peasants.
A beggar boy,
The age of twelve,
Looked upon the heavens.
With open hands, he prayed for grace,
And it rained grains and cookies.
Boy,
The heavens have smiled,
Upon the likes of us,
Once more.
A farmer stood,
Amid his fields,
Dreaming of the harvest.
But rain poured down, and so he hid,
His crops left unattended.
He muttered words,
"Sayglas, " he said,
And suddenly it ceased.
The skies held back, the sun returned,
And fortune played its piece.
Boy,
Fortune has smiled,
Upon the likes of peasants.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem