Yellow basks the ground
as its beauty is found.
Long forgotten was the wry
after the storm had ridden by.
Cracks in the obsidian clouds glowed
as a ray of hope was bestowed.
The meadow now weep in glee
as they found the answers to their plea.
Its tyrant not leaving them in gloom
for lest they remain un-bloomed.
-03/06/2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem