Cold grey marble
Soldiers erect,
displaying
their
etches.
Black withered roses
bow heads,
praying in
silence.
Embedded footprints
crackling frost,
leaving
powdered
dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I believe I have been here! At least it conjures up a moment from my past in D.C. You have a beautiful talent. Barbara