The TV just shows blood and gore,
What have we to be happy for?
The sweet breeze that smells of dew,
The bird that cries toodle-oo, toodle-oo.
Butterfly wings, dandelion flower,
The stars resting in their sweet bower.
Leaves of green, petals of red,
The moonlight after the clouds have fled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem