The cheek full of tears
no one can hear
to chicken skin
hairs erect
unfortunate thing.
A lips sour
a full hour
and pale childhood
the howl of a children's choir
playthings are only wood.
Built-in stubborn anger
an eternity to hang
for child despair
until a helping hand to the mother
clean up the air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem