The rain came suddenly,
soaking up the picnic blanket
like a sponge.
We hurried from the pond,
papa pushing the carriage;
mama gripped my hand so hard
I cried out.
And no umbrella to protect
baby Maria...
I wept when they took her away
and said I couldn’t see her.
You're too young, they said.
I don't know how I understood
why she'd not come home again.
I only knew she never would.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem