I built my life with muddy bricks and a tin sheet for the roof, <br />My history teacher suggests the name; poverty <br />But it's weather-beaten knows everybody. <br />Am I heavy to carry on your soft wings? <br />If you prefer I could have join your pilgrimage <br />Leaving all my burdens aside <br />I was carrying since my childhood. <br />I see the outer world through my little window, nothing; but gloomy. <br />Only I hear the secret murmur of the souls. <br />Red ants on the window sill very busy and I heard a butterfly's crying.<br /><br />nimal dunuhinga<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-the-butterfly/
