Dead Wood Poem by Cigar Aficionado
Dead Wood
We are stacked, we do out number the
best intentions the ground
is devoid.
The frozen box our nightmare all will
know to keep it filled.
Unclaimed large city wasted land to fill
in parting sentimental
values hold.
Thousands flow as Hitler marched the
burning youths an oven
blown a grave to keep
some land.
Rivers flow to oceans dust and bits our
bones they drift away
and gather home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 5:40:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
