Breathing over me,
Wind passes through trees
Before a storm,
Vulnerable
In more than one.
No one will rake the leaves,
Bare for who seeks
Damage done.
Nature's wrath apart,
Come next season
Ten open trunks
Wait for a spark
That was there already.
Fire to ashes freedom,
Better as exhaust,
Make of what is left,
Than rot here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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