Nature, the great kind beast
Fearful, retreating.
For so long in demand.
Of mankind's madness.
Wistful, waiting in the winds,
Of sorrow.
Endlessly tripping over
Fallen branches.
Of solace.
The end is nigh,
Utters a silent veil of
irretrievable ghosts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem