Stood beneath it,
wondering what could have gone wrong.
Staring sternly at its roots;
it stood strong,
and showed no sign of rot.
Stupefied I was,
the battle within,
raged on.
The silent cries crept in,
inaudible voices were heard,
deep within were a thousand questions;
with no forthcoming answers.
I stood there,
praying for answers,
unsure of its origin.
Still I hoped,
hope upon hope,
to see the cause,
as I silently prayed for it to bud.
Trees ever in help of the mother earth and acts in different useful methods to makes this earth so livable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Whether real, or metaphorical, the tree buds in its own time. Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed your poem, Maureen