And but for you would i sing
singing now but of things.
How they fly and i wait and day
turns to night and you sing.
Green covered in grass as i turn
burning around with out end upon end.
Blind as i am the salt and the wind
bend on the end for summer it comes.
Toching each finger tips lends
imagination grows for the little people,
too know.
He's weathered coming out going in
and coming out for me is his hand
opens up and something speacial
comes alive as it walks in the sand
is a smile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem