as predicted
the dragon came
breathed fire
killing some of
our forefathers,
my father slayed
it, and i was born,
from the body of that
rotten dragon
grows a tree where
in all those leaves
names are
written
as the leaves on
autumn begin to fall
the winds
come singing
a mournful song
a song for heroes
and children look
beyond the glass windows
on cold
afternoons....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem