It was the eve of the reckoning.
The moon shone as a spotlight,
Searching every pine for answers.
They whispered secrets to the night,
And in hoping they be spared,
Their needles deepened in a color
Evergreen and true, while
Their spines stretched even taller.
They gave to the wind's every whim,
Bent and bowed to its will,
Honored the moon with their dancing branches
Til it bade them adieu and wished they be still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem