Is it wrong for me?
I see myself talk to the Tree.
Not understand is common sense,
did I do wrong? Maybe you know now,
as I close my eyes at the count of three.
Is that wrong, admit it, for me?
You did well little me, said that now,
too bad, too late. Dying soon my Tree.
Not understand is common sense.
Ten years it have been for me now,
my little one. Yet, I had to agree.
Is it wrong, never cried a joy, for me?
Be brave little me, need the Tree lend a bow?
I need not a bow, need just sheltering Tree,
would you be? Not understand is common sense.
Search any field little me, sure you know now.
Mine is blackened; sooner or later, wither this Tree
at the count of three. Is it really wrong for me?
Thank you my Tree, understand is real, real common sense.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem