I left some blossom on the tree
To see if nature kept it there
It doesn’t really bother me
Because at times, life isn’t fair
And so it blew away on summer winds
And took away the beauty it revealed
It left just leaves and nothing else at all
And next year’s blooms were waiting there, concealed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful critique on the cyclic and seasonal ways of nature which it holds like the wand of the magician. Thanks, Phil Soar.