She is standing infront of the sun
And then her tears begin to come
I think she’s running away from here
Wait, I think the giant is coming near
The loudest booming that could be
Continues for hours, probably three
And as it comes closer, right over my house
I crawl under my bed and hide like a mouse
The giant must be playing with the lighting
The booming grows louder, she must be fighting
My mother hears my whimpers and comes into my room
And hugs me close to her as I hear another boom
I bury my head into her chest
And try and hope for all the best
She asks me why I feel so bad
And I look to her with eyes so sad
Mama, a giant is outside our door
We can’t get away, we can do nothing more
Mama says, “What an imagination with which you were born,
Baby, don’t hide, it’s just a thunderstorm.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem