Wind, waiting while her rainstorm gathers,
gathers up the orphaned Leaves,
leaves some tucked in between the rocks,
rocks some to sleep beneath the Trees.
Trees, moved then by her - rain and all,
all will (though trying not to cry) ,
cry tears they'll let, when ends the fall,
fall while they watch their Zephyr die...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem