in the courtyard
of the orphanage in my mind
there's a park
with swings among grass
white on green smiles
responding to new names
and honest games
the hungry children of africa
in the arms of belated protection
so you see, that is why the piano
can stay on the rubbish dump
and I suppose I can pray for you
who cry
but would my prayers be with care
when words and minds
of all careless kinds
are flirting with worldly instruments
that could be used as fuel
for fires to keep little ones warm
therefore I will save my sadness
for the shoeless the motherless
no, I will not cry for the piano
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Elna, this is exquisite. The message, the care with which you have chosen words masterful. Thank you for commenting on a couple of my poems recently.