The sky darkens,
and rain falls to the ground.
The grave stands
alone amidst a fog of sadness.
A little girl
kneels beside a stone marked loving mother.
The child whispers I miss you,
while angels sing a lullaby.
Her mothers breathe
always carried the odor of whisky,
but a child can not condemn her mother,
for a mother is god in the eyes of a child.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem