to fly has a cost,
the cost is to fall;
to find what you lost
when you stood so tall.
The world sees the crack
Within the mountain’s side
Mine is from what I lack
Forming from deep inside.
The icy creek has its chill,
The blistering winds have their wail,
With bitter ice my soul does fill
When the night comes that I fail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem