The child death

He could not die, if the trees were green,
Indeed, he loved the time.
His small hands, when flowers were seen
Web cam for Bluebell,
as it was o'er Greens.

His gaze who knows little about-nosed bee;
He knew that these children spring:
When he was good and the lea
He held one of his hands to sing,
what is his heart filled with glee.

Young children, children of the source!
How can a child die
if butterflies are on the wing,
Green Grass, and such a sky?
How can it die in the spring?

He kept his hands to the white daisy,
and then blue violet,
and it all night in bed
The fact that in green areas grew,
How sweet it childhood pleasure.

And then he just closes its eyes,
and the flowers of reference;
of the esters of birds and eggs does not cause surprise,
He received no flowers;
they met with sighs plaintiffs.

When winter came and blasts have sighed,
And bald was purely and tree,
Given the ease to lie in bed,
His soul seemed with the free software,
He died too silent.