Persistent
Fear
Throbbing
Of
The
Heart.
Wandering
Blood
Finding
Its
Way
Through
Thistles
And
bushes
warm
still
warm.
And
Then
A
Cry
Of
Hunger
From
The
Parched
Lips.
Turned
Pale
The
Moon
Frowned
Faces
Stars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem