Little girl, reaches slowly, but constant, to
catch a butterfly.
Gorgeous pattern of colors, fly
like a white angel in the dusk.
She must, hold on to beauty, for those
few seconds.
Her hand is bleeding, and stings,
for this angel had wings,
sharp as a razor blade.
All Beauty is Pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
what an interesting idea. Nice one.