Little baby, lying in mama's arms
Tell us how diff'rent her affection is
(Especially to those made deaf
In the arms of insolence)
Tell us that every word from her tongue
Is a berceuse, making you sleep
On the cradle of boon
Not on the hammock of bane
Tell us that every touch made by her hand
Is a panacea, making your withering hope
Prolong its life
Making your dim future a golden sunrise
Tell us that her every kiss
Wipes your tears away
And her every hug
Brings you warmth and joy every day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem