when you step out the door
the rain stops
you walk avoiding the patches
of water
the trees are still in their
solitude
the wings are cautious
even in the making of its whispers
the skies are clear, white
stainless
the sun shines moderately
upon the cold pavement
you climb a mountain and sits
on a rock
from the top you see
how beautiful is this world still
after a storm after a 6.9 quake
if it ends as they predict
surely you will always miss it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem