The little girl, Mom, was writing on the paper
And her abrupt little hand was in full swing,
But all were indifferent to her effort
Thinking it as a vain sport.
Long time I was busy in my work
And I did not get a chance to reach her lark,
As soon as I got it,
I went running to that site;
With a curious mind when I scrutinized the paper,
I became spellbound in wonder;
As I understood the girl had written
The most important thing on the paper
Like a woman of letters.
Like a woman of letters! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Writing! ! Muse of the letter. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.