She sang just above a whisper…her sleeping baby on her thigh
having already succumbed to the enchantment of her mother's lullaby.
The mother nodded when we stopped to listen before moving along
Then smiled at her baby and continued with her song.
The street was a buzz of people…a briskly moving throng.
Everyone too busy…too preoccupied…to hear this mother's song.
But we felt privileged…
we felt honored we were there to spy
one of the greatest gifts we can witness in life…
a mother's lullaby.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
it is not spy it is the curios time of good poet, as a result you have painted a lovely imagery in your amazing poem, well done and 10/10