My baby cries in her silvery eyes
Drop after drop, staining her pinky face
Every dropp that streams holding what?
I wish I did know to tell!
For my heart leaps for her every weep
Her speak is novel to me.
Is it the purple of boredom?
Or the yellow of hunger that yells,
Demanding for feed resolve I, it be!
I give her the white of the nectar formed,
Of the redness that runs in me.
I see her little mouth sucking with vigour
And her face glowing, all serene with peace!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem