The winds create an epitaph where
Bees take cover and ants prepare;
The sky creates a colorful block
To where the shadows break the clock.
The babies cry while heaven leaks,
Wanting icy creamy peaks
And fire-eating wizard men
That make all glad right after ten.
Destruction marks the starting point
To which the children's souls anoint;
The winds create a legacy
Of saving all from agony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem