Bountiful harvest
but the sickness doesn't care.
You were taken too soon;
The only two that mattered.
The gravest injustice in loss
is health.
Scaffold finds new heights
and I paint the sky to
feel closer to my sorrow.
Below, the ground laughs in knowing;
Another meal consumed.
So I take a leap from grace
in attempt to see your face
only to meet the flagstone under
which you're concealed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem