Whilst it doesn’t get fully dark
It is necessary and needed to spend a smile or two
And twirl a pirouette right out in the infinity of childhood
Certainly, there will be time
To wipe off the dust
Right off the little white shoes
So that all timid glances
And playful daydreams and fancies
Be tucked away as clothes inside a suitcase
There are suitcases that swell with smiles
Before, one last time, they stand
On the platform of dire uncertainty
Thirteen year-old little Hana Brajdova
Gasps thirteen times before mounting
The train with a single final destination point
Little Hana turns thirteen times
Looking at the honey locusts, which almost, out of habit,
Await a new booming season
She casts a glance at her favorite little white cloud
Whence the dove tirelessly perched itself
On top of the seat of unambiguous smiles.