One late afternoon at the rooftop
I noticed a dead tree in the back lot.
With its lifeless branch spreading wide
I know he was alone and feeling sad.
He missed the birds he used to see dropp by
He felt helpless when rain comes every July.
How he envied others who have covered leaves
How he hated himself for being useless.
Yet he never know he was precious in my eyes
Even if I told a friend how lovely he was.
Some found him just a dumb old dead tree
But to me he was perfect for my artisty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
no other poem as lovely as a tree...only a dead tree :)