Deeply rooted in the soil beneath,
The ornate trunk it holds at best,
Sways to the rhythm of the occasional breeze,
Yet finding solace in the latitude,
Lending shelter, fruit and flavor,
Though hopelessly pitted to the ground.
Free to the manor born,
Yet seemingly inverted in spirit and form,
Facedown, the head embedded in the ground,
Ribbed body cage, outstretched naked limbs,
That bears only a semblance to the hollow willow,
Hopelessly pitted to the ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice write! Thanks for sharing!