The oaks are full of acorns
why the wind blows at this time of day
it is morning.
She I hear her magic voice
as it falls upon my ears.
Looking at all the old oak trees.
How many were here, when she was?
She is gone and they aren't.
Sara Teasedale knows now, why I love her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful and sad, but the oak tree reminds you of when your great love was around!