You’re always dropping things—
friends, lovers, world view—
just as in November deciduous trees
reduce their sap and strew
their cloaks of leaves and fruits and nuts
merciless to the ground below.
And like the unremorseful tree,
you never weep or know
feelings of regret
or discouragement,
only a sense of lightness
and content.
Look then down at last year’s leaves,
we whom you have done with.
There will come a time
when those you’ve had fun with
and cast aside will remember
your rejections and phoniness
and you’ll live the rest of your life
in isolation and loneliness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
For the last two years some trees have been attacked by some mysterious insects that have made them lose all their leaves and left them isolated and lonely... Some pple want the others to die in their little rooms... what is the point in making friends with them and their friends? Lol Wonderful write...