All these trees shake their heads,
To the feelings of the blowing winds,
The hissing sound in the bamboo clusters,
The musing in the wild and calm desert,
The dancing waves at the brim of a saucer,
The maple syrup on the bib and the collar,
One sided sheep just ready to be sheared,
Multi faces of cowards change upon jitters,
As long as the internal inferno fails to subside,
All these trees will shake their heads,
to the tunes of want, and need.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem