A single pine on Orange Street
stands among houses that wall it high.
The city concrete has bound its feet
and only space left, is up, the sky.
A lonely pine in urban jungle
what are you doing here alone?
The growing buildings try get you strangled,
how can you live here, so far from home?
You never get enough of water
nor sun. Long way from all the other trees,
alone you witness greed, crime, slaughter,
the city insults and disease.
You do survive the noise and dust
and stretch your arms high to heaven,
outliving statues iron cast
and their creators, the mortal brethren.
You wait in silence for little rain
and breeze of air, your only friends.
They bring you life and keep you sane,
coming and touching your outstretched hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem