A tree is a blade, not on my ladder
But on my bed in my bedroom to last
For the days and nights and forever.
To skillfully admire one's thought you
Must ponder tonight on the reality
Of birds and blades of danger so you cry.
Must we create a story to the beds and sofas
To live along the lives of all the people
Who rest and cry and lament for all time.
The tree tomorrow and nextdoor is polite
To me and all of the excitement has ruined,
The alacrity of the giant plant is unknown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem