The boy sits begging,
Hands up high
His head raised up,
Toward the sky.
People pass by.
He waits there all day,
Hands up high
His head stays up,
He heaves a sigh.
People pass by.
The moon comes out,
Shines on the hands up high,
The head raised up,
Toward the sky.
No one passes by.
He's all alone
And freezing cold,
His hands tremble,
Breaking the mould.
Of the beggar boy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem