I flagged, so stopped to rest and catch my breath
Next to a moss-grown slab-stone flagstone wall
For several needful seconds, more or less,
On that steep slog upslope to Heptonstall.
I saw a weather-wizened bonsai birch
In a small slot within a wall-top crack.
Why it had chosen such a parlous perch,
I wondered. Then, as I, refreshed, glanced back
And scanned the ample panorama there
Across the dale below the brackened ridge,
I guessed it was not chance; it chose with care
Its cling-tight site in sight of Hebden Bridge.
Perhaps this poet-tree, like Plath and Hughes,
Used nature’s poetry to choose its views.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem