Soft, blew the wind,
Making the grass bend.
The windows fly opened,
The slumbering child trembled.
(The replica of Gods...
Innocent of life's odds...)
Flattering their wings,
Came the butterflies in rings.
Covered it with a secure blanket,
To allow it receive the golden casket,
That God presents in its dreams...
Sweet innocent dreams...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem