He's in the barn, watching the golden rays of sun
stream down. He's climbing the big, old oak tree, that
he's found. He's running off through the blades of grass.
He's thinking of, that cute, little girl who smiled at him
last. He's full of wonder, young and free. He's imagining
what there is yet to be. He's laying in the fresh cut hay.
He's down by the river, listening to what it has to say. And
as the pearly strands of rain come down. The fields become a
play ground. And in the mist and rain, of a warm summers
morn,a cool breeze blows, and new is born! There, he is, as
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem