Out the trees are shivering from the cold
Mature leaves rebelling their native stem
And become refugees on the busy road
Where the city cleaner later sweeps them
She is never barren, blooming annually in spring
And lets them, leaves, in autumn explore their way
Where they are eroded by the broom, street king
So she is always blinded about their decay
She is a resistant against the light's speed breeze
And nods to the shake signing a secrete deal
Swing west, swing east, thanks the explosion will soon cease
For with calm winds nothing escapes my will
She rests a branch to a nest settler
Who sing her lays in favor of her past
And dances on her, plays on her etcetera
Then she shakes their beds when the evening light cast
I feel pathetic for her and her friends
For that outer shell-like coat is all they wear
Till in thunder, as the wise, his stem bends
Oh, poor tree why did you grow there?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem