I haven't yet begun to understand how to make another one,
they just come and go and why they mostly go.
Boredom to this child's a deadly sin.
A rose that forever unfolds to never knows of another's ego
bruised and thick and all to quick to crush their dream's.
Vulnerable and fragile they should be from an early age
be protected from life's storm's.
Their essence is the reason why life other's give up
normal their lives.
Their music play's, their hand's can paint the magic
word's A few are blind.
Homage to the dead in life we give to those whom passed
while we're alive.
Would we, but could we know through our patience if we wait
they come again and let U.S. know that one survived.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem