jumping through the puddles does nothing more than bring a smile to a childs face. and from my park bench i can help but smile from ear to ear too watching him enjoy his youth. his mother will be none too pleased with how dirty his pants got or with the mud that clinging to his shoes for dear life. the childs last jump was so high i would swear i saw him talking to the birds who were nesting, asking about their young, and making conversation with the giraffe who was just trying to scratch his nose on the serpentine limbs. and then he came down, so fast through the atmosphere, landing with such a force built up on his descent that my bench rumbled. he looks up and with that illuminating, effervescent smile and its easy to see his new mud freckles. spring has rung the door and the youth have answered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem