There is a tree upon my garden lawn,
Where I have played since bleary time began.
Forever have we dwelt within one bourne
Of growth and blooming seasons, our weary span.
Not like the yearly sown and cutted corn.
Now you a tree so strong, and me a man.
But cracks along your boughs have started,
I fear our doom should You or I be parted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem