It was an egg laid on
A simple leaf,
Hanging to it all the time,
Then the heat of day
Turned it into a pupa,
Then a larva, which brought
Multicolored spread wings,
Which made the butterfly,
Fly against the wind,
In the sheer joy of flying,
And eating out of flowers
Many a one, dancing
With its fellow mates,
Splashing colrs to the air,
It lived a full life of happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem