The wind bellows.
Its voice spreads like wild fire
across fields of sun-kissed wheat.
A single sunflower sways at the touch
of a dragonfly's singing wings,
and a petal drifts down to meet
the dry soil at my feet.
The wind dies down.
The sun sleeps.
I'll wait with patience.
Come morning, horizon will spread
like the fiery wings of a phoenix.
Then the born again sun will rise
from the ashes of stars
left weeping for their morning demise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem