Like thunder striking the earth,
Your force, brilliant but yet gone too soon,
Yet my tree remains ablaze.
For you did not strike a structure or mere dirt, but my tree of life.
The softness of your touch like steel to flint, and your spark caught me.
Though now you may have gone, a smolder in me still remains, enough that a slight breeze could kindle my ashes anew.
But your clouds loft all to distant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem