I will gather leaves of red and blue
And carry them in my apron
Tied around my waist
As
I walk down the needle covered path
To the stream
I will take a few more
From the moss filled rock
And have a seat
The water is clear and cold
But turns to froth
By the stories that restrict it's flow
It's running left to right
So my passengers will be moving
Swiftly past me...towards the road
It demands the stream make it's turn
Shall I put them all in together?
Or shall I do it one by one?
Sometimes..I do both at the same time
What will it be today?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem