Sand and dirt blow through the wind.
This place is dead.
Knowing they are out there,
I pray for my brothers.
The bullets flying high
sending chills down his spine.
Wanting them home,
I pray for my brothers.
God above takes care of their worries.
Hearing their voices in the back of my mind
as they make me stronger,
I pray for my brothers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem