Crawled I, from door to door,
Shut doors were found on me,
The wait for news good,
Reacted forming perhaps bad,
Further hoped for door another,
To lend some news,
That'd make my lips stretch and curve,
And make me smile, laugh, giggle with hearts of my hearts,
But this door next,
Ended up in a refusal,
From giving me a reason to laugh,
Hoped of the best, received better,
Expected of better, got something good,
Thought of good, received verst.
The very infinestimal bag of my good deeds,
Indeed reasonified the act of doors being shut.
In these times of erosion of our hearts,
Recollected the plethora of times,
We laughed, giggled with a broad chest,
When, with wings lended by divine,
We used to fly.
Today our wings are cut, One day it'll heal,
One day they'll bud...And...-
One day, 'WE AGAIN WILL FLY! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem