A spark,
and a blaze lights up the night.
A small glow in the dark,
quickly growing in height.
Throwing rays of flame,
blowing black smoke.
A blanket of shame,
a hazy grim cloak.
But the flames flick higher,
the flares flash brighter.
No common fire,
this torch is a fighter.
It will scorch, it will burn,
it will rise ever higher.
Until ash it is turned,
and the fire retires.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brilliant Write! The flow of it is wonderful.