fields of flowers, each one
uneek, some are blue, red
and pink, with the dirt under
neath, the beaty is great ,
just ask the trees, or better
yet, ask the wind, and the
stars, do you see it my
friend, or is this something
that died and left you crying,
fields of dandelions, and
leaves, and twigs that push
away the beaty, there a sadness
here that hits like the sun, dont
close your eyes or your miss
the feast.............
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem