What spring he had in his steps
Joyfully moving like a butterfly kissing flowers
The smile could penetrate the coldest of heart
Singing so gleefully like in a trance
Such rhythm like a ballroom dance
Always ready in his quest
Always so anxiously asking innocent questions
But all that seems nothing more than a story of the past
There is no spring in his steps
Sadly he moves at a snail’s pace
The smile is miles away
Songs replaced by a wail
The rhythm gone
A vague disinterested look in the eye
No more of innocence
The child is lost in the oblivion
About time for us to ponder the cause…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
we oll are lost children, we oll are from your poem.... good poem, very thoughtfull.