A soap bubble,
created by a smiling child
blows off of the wand.
Giggling and happy, the boy is proud
of his creation!
it hovers in mid-air,
glorifying in its birth.
Then, as it floats,
with each passing second
it ages and matures.
Old, tired and frail,
the soap bubble dies with a soft pop.
And
and another soap bubble is born.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delightful poem. It made me happysad.