The childs hand
Clasps the red rose
She pulls the petals
One by one
Lets them go
Flying on the wind
Free like she
Wishes she could be
Free to go
And free to fly
Never even
A glance at what is behind
But no
She is a prisoner
In her own home
Never to see the world
For all its beauty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Longing for something you can't have, one of the oldest storys of the world, but in a shiny new coat.