Rounded willow
Like an elephant's trunk
roots
my lonely feet.
My sunburnt back
empty;
for my own wood
i own nothing
but memories
in layered cork.
Years past
a seagull died
smothered
in my fingers.
And sunsets past
another
promised
to come back.
I stand
listening
the night's noise
whistling
the wind's tune
waiting.
On one leg standing At the fork Where decision waited. Would I grow Straight and tall Or with sweeping Grace spread wide. If one branch Grows strong Will the other Weaken and droop. Or will they fight For dominance Neither winning. The Gull decides Resting on one, It bends until Pointing down. The other Will be the Survivor and Soon the tree Will be tall and Rise above Those that Have no guidance. And no one will Remember the Bird that did It all. s
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dude! where were u all these days? ! ! ! !