I look out my window
to see a single thin leaf
twist and twirl in light wind
above white bearded boulders
as if overjoyed at surviving
a hard and harsh season
where many of its brethren
let go with the first chilled breath;
easy pickings-
like low hanging fruit
in the orchard of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem