I go across the prairie;
alone... to a place,
private...
not even I can enter.
I cry.
Where has my Father gone?
Why was I left alone?
Some days I can talk:
“What should I do? ”
“Where should I go? ”
Some days I feel you answer:
“You are doing fine, my son:
stay.
This soil is in your soul.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem