Is the one who has not yet lost
The thrills and joys of wishing.
She sits and laughs and thinks,
And hopes it's her future she carves
Upon the asphalt near the garage.
Her head is full of plans and trust
As much as her hands are full of dust.
Her drawings' colors are much too bright
Say her parents upon the sight
Of purple cats and orange hearts
That talk and dance not far apart.
She knows to them it seems absurd
But these aren't their hopes, they're hers.
She doesn't care if no one else
Can see the truth that is felt
When she draws the dips and lines
Of a world where no one lies.
She knows they will be washed away
When she runs to avoid the rain.
But these dreams she'll hold them close
Although they'll change; they're not stone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem