Pesmica jednog desetogodišnjaka SRB-ENG

Tema u školi za treći razred je bila ''kiša u parku''.
Molio me je sin da mu pomognem da napiše pesmicu a ja nisam zeleo da mu pomognem i pogledao sam ga sa blagim osmehom i pogledom (briga me, snađi se).
Mali dečak je plakao u sobi i izgovarao reči, ''šta me briga, neka dobijem jedan'', ''ne moraš da mi pomogneš'', itd.
Ja sam u drugoj sobi njegove reči mirno slušao i pozvao ga da dođe do mene. Došao je uplakan i veoma tužan.
Čovek kada plače, ne čuje, ne vidi i ne razume. Izgovorio sam. Dečak se zbunio i počeo da razmišlja.
Obriši suze dečače mali, rekao sam. Suze je brzo obrisao i gledali smo se u oči. Pre nego što zaplačeš, razmisli, šta će ti suze doneti. Ništa, rekao je mali dečak. E pa kad je ništa onda nema plakanja. Idi nađi sebi malo prostora, uzmi svesku i olovku. Piši sve što ti padne na pamet, nije važno kojim redom ni da li se rimuje, samo piši. Dečak je samo otišao. Vraća se posle nekog vremena sa ispisanim stranicama sveske i kaže. Tata vidi šta sam sve napisao. Naravno, pohvalio sam ga za njegov uspeh i radovao sam se tome i to mu pokazao. Dečak stiče samopouzdanje i tako više veruje sebi. Pogledao sam ispisane listove i video da i nije tako loše napisao. Rekao sam mu da je sve to uredu ali malo da promeni redosled da bi se malo više rimovalo. Dečak je nestao i vraća se posle nekog vremena. ''Tata, vidi sad'', rekao je sav uzbuđen i srećan. Uzeo sam i pročitao. Bravo dečače mali, za ovo češ dobiti ocenu pet, videćeš. Kako znaš, reče on. Osećam to sine moj, trudio si se i nisi varao, nije ti niko pomagao a svaki trud se isplati.
Dečak sutradan sav srećan i donosi mi svesku i pokazuje peticu iz pesmice.

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Kiša u Parku

Nema više leta a nema ni cveta.
Vetar duva, njišu se grane,
opada lišće sa tanane grane.
Sunce nestaje a kiša ne prestaje,
pada više kiše i postaje sve tiše.
Nema više priče, nema više smeha,
svi su se sabili ispod pleha.
U parku dece sve manje ima,
došla je jesen i sunca manje ima.
Klackalice i ljuljaške usamnjene stoje,
gde su naša deca ? Zar se kiše boje.

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The theme at the third grade school was "rain in the park".
My son begged me to help him write a song, and I did not want to help him, and I looked at him with a gentle smile and gaze (I care, take it easy).
The little boy cried in the room and uttered words, "what do I care, let me get one", "you do not have to help me," etc.
In the second room, I listened quietly to his words and invited him to come to me. He came crying and very sad.
A man crying, not hearing, sees, and does not understand. I said it. The boy got confused and began to think.
Clean the tears of the little boy, I said. Tears quickly wiped and we were looking into the eyes. Before you cry, consider what your tears will bring. Nothing, said the little boy. Well, when there's nothing then no crying. Go find yourself a little space, take a notebook and a pencil. Write everything that comes to your mind, it does not matter in what order or whether it's rhyme, just write. The boy just went away. He returns after a while with the printed pages of the notebook and says. Dad saw what I wrote. Of course, I praised him for his success and I rejoiced at that and showed him that. A boy gets self-confidence and so believes more. I looked at the printed pages and saw that it was not so badly written. I told him that it was all right, but a little to change the order to make a little more rhymes. The boy disappeared and returned after a while. "Dad, see now," he said, all excited and happy. I took it and read it. Bravo little boy, for this you get a grade five, you'll see. How do you know, he said. I feel that my son, you tried and did not cheat, no one helped you, and every effort paid off.
The boy on the next day is happy and brings me a notebook and shows a fifth from the song.

Rain in the park

There is no more flight and there is no flower,
The wind blows, the branches are swaying,
the leaves from the thin branches fall.
The sun disappears and the rain does not stop,
it rains more and becomes quieter,
no more stories, no more laughter,
they all gathered under the bell,
in the park of children there are less,
autumn has come and the sun has less,
goggles and swings of lonely standing,
Where are our children? Does it rain?