Kickstands like the long tails of bicycles
Nuzzled by terrapin in the first tangles of the seesaws
Beside the baseball diamonds;
And colorful airplanes kicking starwards- never wondering
Where they are flying,
But going forever faithfully with their arms spread
Like little children no longer afraid, and reverent above
The ventures of a playground’s metamorphosis.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem