The sun on the dawn my eyes can see
Pulling apart the curtains are the hands of me
To let him get through the window pane
So his rays on the cold can easily ski.
The mist on the window would think I’m cruel
To warm him up and boil him with fuel
But all I do is opening the window
To let him drop so he recommends that I do well.
He tells his friends who come when I sleep
And rub off memorable dreams that I keep
By letting me draw on him with my finger
Till I hear the school bus beep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem