The fading colors of the playground,
Cries out to be abused,
Oh, with such inviting sounds,
How can anyone refuse
To climb up the dusty ladders,
Stomp all over the hanging bridge,
Then jump off to land like a feather,
Like a warrior off a ridge.
In the afternoons, the place is filled
With children out of school,
Who scream and shout in voices shrill,
Run around playing the fool.
And, as evening gently arrives, and dinner calls are cried,
The children wind up their games, and to the playground say goodbye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem