Memories mindful of the wakeful sun shining through
leaves of trees, tracing destinations from branch
to branch, undecided as to it's hemisphere.
Wind walking on tiptoe throughout the trees, finding
pathways strayed from reason.
Following dimensions of yesteryear, life begins anew,
fragrantly blossoming new ideas.
Reaching up, picking those that are ripe, looking down,
toes scuffling through those of old, lying on the ground
- overipened - yet still containing the blessed
age of wisdom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem