Wings made of the most delicate silver
A body as fragile as glass
Their faces depicted in children’s stories,
A myth made up of belief and hope
The power source to their existence,
They ride on child’s whispers and chants
Flying from day-dream to day-dream
Some may say they live in stories
Others may say they live in dreams
But I say they live in the bottom of my garden.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
perfect! ! ! ! i love it! !