The sweet little girl carried so many flowers
as she stood in the middle of a very large crowd.
She stood by herself for hours and hours,
and all who passed by could see she was proud.
For she had grown the flowers in her very own garden.
They were red and yellow and violet and blue.
And though there were many, they were never a burden.
People started to take them and then there were few.
As each person passed, a flower they took
but none had looked back to notice her face;
the sweet smile she had; the solemn look
full of beauty and peace and God-given grace.
As each person left, she thought, "I hope that they like them;
I grew each one with so much caring and love."
And when only one flower remained in her hand
she heard a gentle voice coming high from above.
He said, "Little one, my precious. You have given so much.
And your very last flower will be always for you."
And then she knew she would ever be touched
by a love just as sure as the sky will be blue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem