She moves in the wind.
Turning heads as she does her dance of freedom.
Swaying gentaly with the wind.
Loving life.
Children play in her shade.
She supports them as they climb up into her motherly arms.
Her skin is rough and dark but her heart is young and pure.
She sings with the birds that pass.
She mourns with the funeral crouds,
Walking down the sidewalk weeping.
She laughs with the mothers watching their children play.
She has been around for many years,
And many more to come.
Her ears,
They hear all.
And her eyes,
They see everything.
She is not to be pitied,
But envied.
For she has the life of a queen.
Standing tall and majestic.
The whole world is her castel.
And the all the sky her limit.
-Ruby
(origionally a concrete poem about a tree I had to write for school)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem