Children of morning, children of night,
call to the wind for your guiding light.
Children of winter call unto to spring,
children of summer take flight on a wing.
Laughing, crying, jumping, and play,
each life was formed from natures fresh clay.
Molded, and shaped just like you are,
not manufactured like a train, or a car.
Evening approaches take shelter for the night,
for from Heaven shall come the brightest of light.
Reach out your hands and touch a star,
no matter if it seems to be to far.
Grasp your future, and hold on tight,
never let go of that shinning light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem