my childhood poem
there is a pretty butterfly
merrily waits the sun to shine
with purple wings she uses to fly
over the wind, a passer-by
this pretty butterfly
flying low and high
beneath cloudless blue sky
above flowers show un-shy
when i cry, mine eyes would dry
as I stare the pretty butterfly
If I have wings i use to fly
she never leave me and says goodbye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem