He brings me leaves
one each day
contrasting in shape
varied vibrancy, coral to ripe peach
left on the kitchen counter
until evening arrives at our window.
Held in his palm
this single donation
color story of today
our eyes meet
the wrinkles, textured hues, imperfect edges.
Our hands hold a temporary prize between us
cherishing.
Trees give without expecting
something in return. Thankfully,
so does he.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So creative and with thoughts. Makes me think of the wind. Very Nice