Barrel cactus, heavy with age, filled to the brim with
a recent downpour of rain.
Looking forward to the arrival of summer, to get out
of the cold and freezing winter air.
Leaning towards the ground, hoping to make it without
tipping, falling and it's roots losing hold.
Tossing it into the flotsam, dead and being food for
the next cactus to be born into the desert world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem