Underneath a tree I sit
Warm death cascades from the branches
Orange, red, brown, yellow
Colorful wings blend in
Swirling and twirling
Black dots invading the orange
Up in the sky black wings soar
Gliding gracefully
The bat
The butterfly without a soul
I sit and stare at the two
Butterflies
Bats
Crisscrossing each other in the death of spring
Blood spills around me as the two escape
Moving the blood of spring and warms days
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem