The flowers stood together for many years
in one corner of the yard.
Then, as the years went on, mean neighbors
cut a few down, bulbs didn't wish another
season if hatred was coming again.
Little things occurred and there was one, little
bulb that lived.
One pink Tulip, all by itself.
Human beings, animals all things start as many,
few, then none.
I like to think there is more on another side,
a less temporal place, a spiritual interface called
Eternity, the end of earthly life merely a
distinction of place and time.
Some note most of life to momentary joys
while we are here and of the world.
Material existence is indeed transient but
what we believe changes so with what we understand.
Perhaps there will "be" full stands of us
Hardy green and glistening pistols, burgeoning buds.
The cutting down by others should give us that faith, should let us merit a "continuance"
somewhere, somehow -- an even more beautiful
life, more beautiful times of pink tulips and their
companions standing in a joyful "present" all in rows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem