Of heavens and glories past stories were told
Of heroes and knights fairy tales and dreams were made
With delight and pure passions strings of gold and silver were weaved
Into thoughts of beauty much too great
In enchanted palaces over pearl filled seas
We prayed to live out the glory of our dreams
Though we were once kids to whom the stories were told
We are now old and towards the same stories we grew cold
Blind to the fairies in the tales our eyes used to see
And to the beauty of grace we used to seize
We helplessly lay caught in the web of life as it takes place
Grieving we wonder when did our sweet innocence fade away?
But then with hope at night when lights are turned down low
We reminisce how we once were innocent a lifetime ago
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nina, you are surely too young to have lost your dreams, but you are right. cynicism is the enemy of imagination.