Fire lives.
When born, it breathes.
It lights up it surroundings when it grows.
The darkend faces still shining.
Let me live.
Please don't kill me, I want to see my offspring glow! ! ! !
Wind of the Gods feel the wrath of evil growing.
Rest in peace.
For tomorrow, we shall smell your life on the burnt ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem