The millions march on the archway of dreams,
with rainbows and snowflakes and stars in our bones,
straight out of our teens and into the world,
all chipping away at our sculptures of hope.
Remember when we stood upon the old bridge:
blue skies above us, the river below?
What would we trade now, oh what would we give,
of all that we've done, of all that we know
for rainbows and snowflakes and stars in our bones?
2009/19
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So true. Beautiful
You're very kind Darcy...