What good a mansion, with no way in,
to those outside, when the rains begin?
What good a mansion, without any doors,
as the lightning strikes, and the thunder roars?
What good a mansion, be it made of gold,
to those outside, afraid and cold?
And what good a mansion, of most precious stone,
to be inside, unloved, alone?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem