From a distance a baby tetters on the edge
A tiny body toddles on a high window ledge
A cat ready to pounce on a baby sparrow
A child in the path of a runaway arrow
Too late to act, worse still to yell
Watching death run its course in a spell
A clock turned to ice, in the tic of a breath
Running in time's tar, out of reach life or death
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem