I sit by the worn crater's edge
making notes on the volcano
the lava bubbles up
belching smoke
I move to the edge
to take a close up picture
tripping over jagged rock
I fall into the boiling lava
I scream as my protective suit smolders
and then begins to burn
my clothes turn to ash
I can't get to safety
the sides are too steep
The world may think that I have gone
well in a way they're wrong
although I may be dead to you
in other's thoughts I'll still be living
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem