While walking through Muir Woods I step upon
an ancient burl. The snap cracks the forest,
then silence. Shadows give way to morning.
A gold-tipped hawk screeches as it wheels beyond
an ancient burl. The snap cracks the forest.
Not all Sequoia grow to see the tide
A gold-tipped hawk screeches as it wheels beyond
the mist that murmurs reach beyond the loam
Not all Sequoia grow to see the tide
Not all sparrows rise to challenge sky.
The mist that murmurs reach beyond the loam,
the wind that whispers leaves will keep your rest.
Not all sparrows rise to challenge sky.
While walking through Muir Woods I step upon
the wind that whispers leaves will keep your rest,
then silence. Shadows give way to morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem