When I falter,
start sinking
into myself,
I reach for
something to
raise me up.
Something
small perhaps,
but buoyant
and strong
as belief
in the sun.
Something
small perhaps,
but forever
color and warmth,
shape and depth,
and yes.
This source
of strength
a simple fact:
my happy
is tied to
your happy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Few people can successfully construct a poem with short, economical lines line this. It's finely put together, insightful, and perfectly wonderful. The second stanza seems just about perfect.