Starting over after nine eleven,
cringing whenever smoke rises or a plane
flies over my head.
Memories clouding my mind of that fateful day,
so many lives lost needlessly.
Jets overhead being used to signify one man missing
in formation.
Now it means so much more whenever a jet soars above us.
We bow our heads and pray for all those who lost their
lives and the families they left behind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem