Somewhere out there high on a tree
there is a face that’s hard to see.
it always stares without a blink
making some wander what it might think.
It doesn’t move the rain or shine
and more and more covers it vine.
But empty eyes don’t loose from sight
anyone passing, a day or night.
The wooden face does never change
and sees you all, from every range.
It’s not allowed to lough nor cry.
Maybe it could, but doesn’t try.
And if it catches you with its cold stare,
don’t try to stand it, you shouldn’t dare.
Those who did try live to regret,
wishing it daily, they could forget.
The wooden face looks to the sea
and keeps a guard from its tall tree.
And when an evil comes to this shore
it doesn’t dare to stay no more.
The wooden face is now forgotten by most of people down below.
They never care for the old tree and no one climbs, those days a bow.
But the face of wood does not forget and doesn’t close its eyes to sleep,
with its cold stare sees everything and often times, it wants to weep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem