The wind he howls like a banshee through the trees
With no respect for ought in his way.
Fighting and thrashing with the leaves
Who smile, falling gracefully to ground,
Where they lie, to die and be trodden
Underfoot by human and beast alike.
Until they become broken and sodden,
But only ‘til the seasons turn
And the sun, she comes to bring re-birth,
Whilst the wind he hibernates.
Until the circle turns, and once more, it is his – the earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked your poem. Life, death, rebirth. Good write.