It was at the end of the war, after all that bombing. There were more dead than bullets hitting the ground. Life was gone for all those people on the ground. Nature too had left this earth, the flowers trampled, the grass half on fire. There were more dead than flowering trees. When I started writing this poem, there were more people than there were at the end of the war. The end is nearer for me than for you. Farewell, earth.
Je ne sais pas du tout si ce poème est super bien réalisé. Mais si c’est noté, j’espère que tu auras une bonne note ! Et j’espère aussi que tu m’en feras part ! Bonne soirée.
