The fields are green and rich up here
With little daisies growing
The buttercups shine golden pure
This passive park is glowing
I've only been here for a while
I call it now my home
The streets are straight and borders tiled
Where weeds don't dare to roam
My old place never was like this
Roads, alleys more like pathways
No borders framing fields or lanes
With grit and gravel always
The winter was much colder there
I had not many clothes
and morsels were much fewer, dear
But not much fewer woes
So here I am and it is Spring
I now have many jackets
It's all so easy and so warm
My life in pleasant packets
Yet when I look at daisies' hearts
Those centers small and yellow
They look the same as where I'm from
The same, so small and mellow
What difference does it make if I
Move here or there or yonder
If daisies in the Spring still look
The same, it's hard to ponder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One after one, exquisite poems, thank you Liilia! !