Small red rose, born on the eastern slope:
Shell-burst and anger blasted round you
Under the moving light that neighboured us with fear.
When spring forced your head above the parapet of the hill,
You burst your sweeter, better-scented scarlet on my world
And I in bitter bloodiness, saw hope
And thought I caught the scent of home.
Sunburst rose, I love the redness of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The rose is small- and so lovely, like your poem.