Starting over after nine-eleven, cringing whenever smoke
rises or a plane flies over my head.
Memories clouding my mind, of that fateful day, so many
lives lost needlessly.
Jets overhead used to signify one man missing in formation,
now it means so much more whenever a jet soars above us.
We bow our heads and pray for all those who lost their
lives and for the families they left behind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem