The wind sweeps viciously
against the
grassy fields
I look over to the ball
I want to
cry
I will not
believe
There's a chance I might not
ever see her again
I cuss under
my breath
and yell at the
people
to get our strongest
soldiers
out of jail
The enemies
got the ball
I kick the grass
and storm
off to
cry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem