And the sun bowed its head to the day,
and the night bled its ink,
across the paper sky.
The day's troubles turned in,
and children's pillow wishes,
floated up,
to the charcoal space above.
Their dreams,
shone and sparkled so bright,
and kept us safe,
throughout the night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem