Fiery sunbeams coalesced upon the pungent bog
As fumes transpired from in its inner odious core.
A vestige of decades of ruthless planetary war
With no regard for life, liberty or burial rites.
The decaying bodies left in heaps to rot and putrefy,
Transported here when functions stop to clear the battle zone.
Flies as big as baseballs ravening the sultry remains.
Kirk and I having come here to get the personal effects
of two Federation soldiers lost in the latest scrimmage.
We were to beam up directly to the USS Enterprise.
We took fire from two hiding Ferengi acqusitioners.
I heard a fly buzz behind my back as we transported up.
I found myself in Vulcan Heaven standing tall,
But my wings looked disproportionately small.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I will never find myself in Vulcan Heaven. Something similar to a volcano, maybe...