Оригинален текст
Pastels and circles.
Lights on a wire.
Balancing babies.
Absense of time.
Dreaming of mother while they hover.
Sun rays blanket them while they dream.
Line stretching out over the city.
People below will carry parasols.
Blue babies on the line,
Happens time to time,
La la la la la.
Fragrent breeze of mother's broken touch
Lures them in from miles,
Once in awhile.
Eventually she realizes,
Tight-rope walker she becomes.
Careful not to shake the pins loose,
Steady she steps with her arms out
Balancing