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My Sister

My sister that New Year was sixteen, a naive civilian:
Her cheeks just began to grow rosy, her lips vermilion;
Her eyes symbolized the azure sky, her heart a green bud;
Her soul was filled with warmth, the spring sun lifeblood.

Although she was only sixteen,
So many guys had already dreamed of a wedding scene.
And many a virtuous mother even had wished pride
Of having her as hopefully her son's well-behaved bride.

Pure and proper as the fragrance of pomelo flowers,
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Wednesday, May 23, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: hatred,life and death,war
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Translation of Ngô Minh Hằng's poem "Chị Tôi"
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM

Such a young age, greatest tragedy, war is ift so cruellest. This is created with deepest emotions, since the readers are crying too in their hearts and mourning. A 10 and much much more for the vote.

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Manonton Dalan 23 May 2018

so sad... such a young life disrupted... i don't like war

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