The little ballet dancer lay broken and blue,
Pain in her heart, her mind the whole way through.
Lost and lonely, tears in her eyes,
On her way to meeting her demise.
Can you find her before she meets her end?
Her broken heart can you mend.
There she is the broken one
It’s too late, her time has come,
Her blood runs dry her heart is numb.
That’s when you see the bloody knife,
With which she took her life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem