Though I don't know why

(3521) Mor manamukure

On my mirror of psyche,
Why oh Pilgrim Unknown, You don't grant embrace?
Hope's bud is infused in the honeybee,
But You don't demonstrate haste.

Covered by fruits and flowers is this, Your universe;
On the mind of each bud is coated the scent of pollen.
So why is this humble shoot penniless, indigent;
For me why is everything scarce?

My eyes are wet by water mixed with salt;
Grief's night of dejection, won't there be a dawn?
Threadbare are they become, dried have many garlands;
And yet You bring hope-filled wares.

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