Who is the actual unfortunate I wonder?
When the sky fills with thunder
And the rain blesses the ground
The naked children run around
While we “lucky” in dry rooms
Curse the showers in absolute gloom
When the snow kisses the earth
And the world swirls in mirth
It is us that remain confined
The warmth inside seeming kind
The supposedly sad shriek in joy
Moulding happiness out of snow toys
In this fancy world of ours
Delusion has created a blunder
Who is the actual unfortunate I wonder?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem