The girl at the window
clears the glass.
Looks out and sees
the warm sweet grass.
She sees a butterfly
on the pane.
Wishes to touch it
but it doesn't remain.
It's off somewhere
and in its place
arrives the image
of her face.
She sees the tears.
Wipes her eyes,
looks out again
and sees some flies.
Knocks on the window
to shoo them away.
Returns to her gazing
for most the day.
Strapped in a chair
for many long years.
Takes pleasure daily
when nature appears.
Without the window,
nothing to see.
No flies, no grass,
no butterfly free.
Must keep it clean
or she will die.
Nothing to see
not even the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem