What of the marble that rolls away?
Does it stay unmoved,
From where it last lay,
Dark color now removed,
Baked off by the day,
Does it ever fly,
Carried firmly in a beak,
A hundred feet high,
Resting atop a mountain peak,
Does it get invited,
To travel with the rain,
Splish-splashing and delighted,
To skip across a drain,
Does it sit alone,
Spun quickly out of sight,
Hearing in muffled tone,
Friends clacking in the light,
Does it enjoy snow,
Leafs falling from the trees,
Warmth from summers glow,
The hum of busy bees,
Does it remember who,
Hands crafted games to play,
Does it remember you,
From before it rolled away?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem