CHILDREN'S SECTION Poem by Vrouwkje Tuinman
CHILDREN'S SECTION
The smallest graves are crowded with Santas
and Easter bunnies. In the branches
above them, wind harps vie
for the softest tune. A teddy that
once was loved now gets soaked
and dries, gets soaked and dries.
On the rare occasion a toddler reaches for it,
mother says no. Someone has brought
red-white-blue themed gifts
from the supermarket. Lights switch on
automatically. No one dares throw anything away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 12:48:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
