we drop watercolor
drops to the shiny paper
then we blow each drop
the way we like it
falling short of air and
tired we declare to teacher
our works of art, and she
smiles comforting us that
my dear kids, life is beautiful
now take your rest. Do something
else, and what we did is to
run to the school playground and
play under the sun where nobody
tells us what to do next.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem