The battle fades, the weary arms descend,
No triumph loud, no victory proclaimed;
Yet in the stillness, broken edges mend,
And lessons bloom where once the soul was maimed.
The scars remain, but do not sting as past,
They mark the course where courage met despair;
Acceptance comes, both gentle and steadfast,
A quiet peace found only by repair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem