There is a dance growing on the forest floor,
A hemlock and yellow birch entangled ever-more,
Their embrace is straight and strong to the core,
A leaning basswood is cutting in but will not score,
A blanket of snow silhouettes their steps rooted fore,
The dance season will change to coalesce once more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem