On fine days, life is a miracle
And the world is a wondrous place.
Roses bloom and songs are lyrical
And days are bright and filled with grace.
Cold winter comes and days go stark.
Winds whip cruel and we don't know why?
Bright roses fade and songs turn dark
And hope is lost when children die.
Then we know true depths of sorrow
And we feel mischance was wrong;
But we may have new hope tomorrow
If we sing a worthwhile song:
With love, best works we freely give
From our souls, where our children live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem