The mourners come,
Each one set out
Along the way
From chapel door
To where the small
White coffin lies
And preacher stands.
One small red rose
Upon the lid,
To tell of love
And show the grief
Of baby dead
Which lies beneath
The coffin's wood
Which was a tree
And proudly stood
But now it holds
Like vessel womb
A baby child
Within its tomb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem