Father of wealthiest burg,
walked through shabby hamlet,
wondering his son will grasp,
wonders of being rich.

Spending nights in farm,
walking through meadow's of peon,
Gazed in brightness of day,
returned to the place they lived.

'what you've learned from the poor folks'?,my son,father asked
innocent eye of that child makes it reply in sadly tone,

While the imported lanterns shines our garden in night,that
makes the moth to dance by false glare at that moon light,real
stars of night shines it's glory to the fields of poor,
people,makes it glow with angels gazed in that blue night.

Patio of our shack meets it's end in front yard,
but the whole horizon is there for them,
servant's of us serve us food,but they served,
others with love and feed them...

When we lived in our small peace of land,
they danced together when the lark sing song,
in the fields god given to them,that go
beyond our sights.

While the wall around our garden saves us,
from the cold dew of starry times,
they have their friends there to defend them,
gathered together to feel warm feeling of love.

Dad,why we are so poor?tell me now,
ever we chatted with our friends like them
never we did shared out our love like them
but dad, thanks for telling me how poor i am.

Gazing at the stars that is shining it's glory in,
far east horizon,where the angles slept with those people,
Truest Mightiness of love,shocks father of rich making him,
replied from the bottom of heart,'I'm still poor'. .