The tall green trees
Seemed to materialize
As if by magic
From the morning mist
That had settled
On the woodland floor
While all around me
What was once a forest
Now become a drawing
In a fairytale book
I once read as a child
These joyful mornings
Stirred up memories
Of my grandfather
Telling my sister and I
Children's stories
From the old country
He knew as a boy
Stories
That were told to him
By his fathers' father
Just before bedtime
That filled the night
With wondrous dreams
Bringing smiles and wonderment
Along with
Soft peaceful slumber
I have not forgotten
Some of the strange words
He shared with us
Words
That were his alone
Words
That I have not heard again
Since he had gone
So tonight
When it is time
For dreams
To fill their sleepy eyes
I will tell my grandchildren
Before they sleep
About the wonderful adventures
Of Ishkala Babala
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem