Silvercords and bells,
the
edge is razor sharp.
I hear the children whimper,
as I scream.
Each one of you that never was,
I made them go away.
Pure of heart while coming back.
I tossed them all away.
I closed the flower,
every time you never came.
The stars that never shine,
upon their face.
Doing the same thing and I would.
Sour milk the pail I fetched,
has run out far away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem, I like it. Keep writing