Don't scar them in anger.
A hurt by your hands
Takes so long to heal.
And what won't heal
They won't forget,
And what they won't forget
They can't forgive.
I'd hate for these little eyes
To look at you
with anything but love.
I have mined
Every inch of my mind
For a merry memory
Of my dear father.
But what I found rather
was a leaden lump,
sharp edges shredding me within.
Don't you too foolishly
mistake fear for respect.
These little hearts
are yours to protect,
not coldly reject or neglect.
I won't let you break their spirit.
Or kill their confidence.
Rather no memory.
Than painful reminders
of a man they could never please.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Little hearts are like plain sheets.