I saw a child of three, led by a big man 
In his twenties, holding her such that
The child had to strain up her forearm.
The face of this girl, walk-pushing forward, 
Did not show joy or  pride 
Despite going with father.
I was hurt  by puzzled anxiety 
In the background of generalized pain,   
With mouth open, and lips out-thrust.
Eyes dull, her natural take
On  life  was bitter and painful: 
It killed joy of life in me for awhile.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
As always, you have written very well. Sad subject, good poem. Larry