if not even rain has such small hands
then the tiny rivulets it carves in sand
are not the artfullness of infant fingers
if eyes are as deep as roses black
then then they are not so shallow
as those of minds judgemental
do not believe they are
if one is truly captured by intense fragility
tiny flower buds would not be smooshed
so quickly as they are
with unborn flower petals
littering the grasses
[inspired by: W [Vi Va] by E.E.cummings]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem