He never cried
except himself to see
for wasn’t he a man
born above these ways?
He never loved
while others could see
for then his facade
just would not be.
He never asked
help from any man
only weak need aid
and was he not strong?
So he stood… alone
there among the trees
his roots, rotting away.
Yes, a mighty oak indeed!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And there but for the grace of God.... The irony of your narrative is superbly understated and all the more powerful because of it. A personal experience methinks? Brilliant. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥