The book of my poems,
Means so much to me.
Come, read oh distant traveler,
May you feel the words I silently speak,
In times of distress my reflection of frustration enters this book freely,
I rather write away my realization than sink and sulk in sorrows like seas.

Read and understand my little wisdom,
I believe God granted it to me.
Come in the wall of my little kingdom,
I assure you love and loyalty.
I am no scholar nor the wisest of men,
Yet my heart cries and my tears the ink to my pen.

Forgive me distant traveler,
Only words i have for thee.
No silver nor gold nor vanity resides inside of me.
A cancer who slowly kills the body and makes it no more to be,
Like a man with no foundation and ambition his eyes can allow him to see.