My willow tree is all alone.
Limbs, protective of its trunk,
like a waterfall and its cave,
when the lightening tries to strike
it down. Thunder growls from high
above and rain like teardrops
fall from the branches,
back and forth, side to side,
Hail pounds at it, and a tornado
tries to rip it out. Then when it's
all over, the sun shines bright
and my weeping willow stands strong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You do know that your run-on lines make it hard to follow. Appreciated the explation. Read mine - Frost Flowers - Adeline