Walking through the forest
With crackling of pulpous twigs
My conscience no longer dictates
My soles have no path.
The breeze flows with composure
Rustling the above canopy
It sweeps through my hair
Telling my shoes where to go.
The trickling of a stream
The sound of which grows louder with each step
Becomes my focus
A magnetic attraction of my inner compass.
The path heavily overgrown
No foot ever pass but of the paw
I encounter my destination
A hidden waterfall pouring into a cove.
I sit in Nature's chair-
A curved mineral of some sort
Admiring my newly found discovery
Basking in its glory.
Soon the sun set in the crest
I said farewell to my friend
Knowing I would never find it once more
I looked back until overgrowth enclosed the fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem