My Life stood a wormy tree
hiding by a mountain road.
Then chopped down, chipped and left for dross
was taken by the wind.
Now it flies along the vents.
seeks places it might shine.
But fast life and experience
have picked its surface clean
Will it stay and search for more,
or will it cut the losses,
fly back to a quiet lane,
hold sway with wisdom’s hostess?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem