Looking out of the window,
At the maple tree in the winter,
I ask myself why something so old,
Is such a believer?
Maple leaves fall with snow,
But never gets buried in,
So I questioned why something so cold,
Never falls to anything?
When winter ends,
The maple leaves and snow disappears,
So I wondered why something that weakly stands,
Does not have fears?
But when maple trees are bare,
And they still survive,
I just stare,
At the lessons of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem