my roots are still growing
somewhere in that valley
shaded by the blue-spired mountains
pieces of me
sprouting like weeds
alongside the black walnut tree
and the lilac bushes
coming up between
the neglected bean rows
in the garden
when my grandfather's callouses
taught me to love the land.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful trip into your family history, one I like very much, for it takes someone special to appreciate his grandfather's callouses...and to love the land!