Wind picking up, getting louder.
Suddenly a dust devil appears in a
cloud of dust, spinning up the
mountainside, pulling whatever will
come up with it together.
Climbing - ever faithful - then the
wind dies down and it disappears
into dust, lying once again upon
the ground until the next one comes
along.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That is evident that whatever goes up must come down. I like how you create a scene from this natural occurance. I was beginning to picture the scenario. Bravo!