I see a flower, weltering in this midst summer's heat;
a tragedy of beauty lost.
It goes untold the innocent that once lied,
a beauty trampled by man.
For whatever it was, a rose or a sunflower bud,
it was short lived, a tragedy.
Should that flower be left to welt away?
Perhaps, or perhaps one day it will bloom anew;
a new beginning with colors like the heavens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem