What shall I do
If my legs are there
And refuse to walk,
To run, to play
And to dance?
What shall I do
If my hands refuse to
Hold things, or to
Write poems, or to
Draw and paint
The pictures I witness?
What shall I do
I know not dear,
But I must say something
Helpful to you all.
I must speak something
Sweet, something bitter,
And I know
Lips are there
To help me
For good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem