There she sat, head tilted back in elegance
Pushed
By her father in her
Pink plastic chariot
Barely two years old
With golden multicultural skin
A crown of silken shiny curls
Framed her gorgeous face of regency
Style, heirs and grace
And she knew
She was fabulous
As she was whooshed past my
Car window
Off through the grey sordid concerete
As a bright cheery spot
Pushed by her proud, proud father
Gracefully
Picking her tiny
Button nose
Great ending! I have been accused of that once or twice. Not picking my button nose, but riding around in my pink stroller. I loved the poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes the moments that jar us, scar us with a positive blemish, ephemeral, too soon gone without trace, where we too busy and hardened, so easily that glimpse of flared beauty replace, with life's dull and grinding haste, but here you have saved just one precious and fleeting moment that says, this all, is not just a bearable waste.