Playground of our old school is a
wonderland of rising hillock with
steep sides abounding in small
holes turned into fairy dells
I swept them with a broom
exposed coloured stones
leaf decorated, artfully
arranged fir tree needles
I remember fresh smell, sunbeams
glistening in dust, beauty of my
fairy valley, joy and peace
played alone, by myself
The dream of creating fairyland
lingers on in glittering fairy
figurines next to
my bed
Pasting fairy pictures everywhere
changing every space into a
magical place
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Keeping the school like a fairyland will, no doubt, attract the students well. They will be tempted to attend the school every day without fail.