He bent down to touch the flower
Whose cup was drooping, full of rain,
And, emptying it onto the grass
He saw it spring to life again;
As it turned towards the bright sun
A new vigour pulsed through each vein.
The little girl kneeling close by
Felt him touch her downcast face,
And, gently, he did the very same,
He lifted her head towards the place
High up in the blue, cloudless sky
Where warm rays reward acts of grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice write mr. paul! very gentle!