I don't see her often
since she died
but when I do
it's eerie over there
at dawn or dusk.
She's a commandant
reviewing troops
no longer there
wandering about the land
that was once her garden
before her son sold it
to someone who will build
a condo and make
a lot of money.
No wonder she looks upset
when I see her walking
over the leveled ground,
waving her baton, expecting
roses and lilies to bloom
once more and salute.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem