The toddler talks in gibberish
and I follow hither as
she waddles to the flower.
It’s pink, like her shirt,
suddenly startled by the girth
of the little girl’s waist.
Wanting to shower life with life,
I pluck the flower from right
beneath her eyes.
To no surprise she giggles with glee
but now I can’t help to wonder
what might be
if we’d only stopped to watch it
grow together a little while longer.
What a waste.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem