pathways cross every pin
wet as it goes dry, the sandals take
than nothing than to stand, until the
sun goes down to the land
what makes a baby laugh when?
the milk spoiled to cried, is the smile
wash the staring eyes of hate
than a mouth spoons up with juice
come know not your burden
the hands had just given, keep it safe
for you to enjoy the prints in
the sand for me
...the sand waits until you come
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem