Little child, weary wanderer,
leaving home to go forth yonder.
Sat alone beneath oak tree,
to sleep away his misery.
A mile from his cottage home,
this little child left to roam,
in the woods so dark and damp;
this little child would make his camp.
While asleep, he heard asunder;
flash of lights - arose of thunder.
Upon his face a dreadful frown,
pouring rain now crashing down.
He watched a tragic play unfold,
that left this child in the cold.
The tent he pitched - swept away,
by the shifting mud and clay.
Now the child dripping wet,
sat alone the night and wept.
A mile from his cottage home, this little child left to roam, Beautiful rhyme poem of tragedy. Pleasing in composition and nice sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such helplessness are part and parcel of human life even as adults. A beautiful poem.