Youth is the dewdrop
Of our buttercups of life,
Endlessly and pensively mirroring
The dark yet green hues swaying harmoniously.
That ambivalent tear swells
Yet diminishes into the abyss of the river of life,
Piercing through the tantalizing rocks,
Soon to be raising the nation’s pillars.
As the pats of proud zephyrs
Untie wet knots,
And the fireflies become our lighthouse,
We cut through falls to be our nation’s pride.
An ethereal scenery can be painted
With only the gleaming hues of our dewdrops,
Embellished with jewels of respect
For the paintbrushes being our step stool.
All frowns shall metamorphosis into chuckles,
Only if we, the dewdrops, gather courage
To slide down the yellow enclosure of our buttercup of life,
And we shall be our nation’s stardust.