The grass grows from grey to green
So says the old man with a grin
Telling stories to little children without a sin
All seated in different rows
Listening to the story of the old and low
Never having the thought of what may show
The story may go on all night
They don't care and won't give a fight
They are the purest in heart
Believing the story to be right
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem