I saw a child of three, led by a big man
In his twenties, holding her such that
The child had to strain up her forearm.
The face of this girl, walk-pushing forward,
Did not show joy or pride
Despite going with father.
I was hurt by puzzled anxiety
In the background of generalized pain,
With mouth open, and lips out-thrust.
Eyes dull, her natural take
On life was bitter and painful:
It killed joy of life in me for awhile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As always, you have written very well. Sad subject, good poem. Larry