The old dead tree stood on a hill,
An ugliness of jagged rot,
In looming form so dark and still
Against the sun - a lonely blot.
My folks had told me not to play
Around that tree; and so of course
I headed for it right away,
Drawn by its mysterious force.
There was an urge I would not stop.
Responding to the luring spell,
I climbed up to the very top.
But, then I slipped and down I fell.
A limb reached out and grabbed me round,
Setting me safely on the ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The Giving tree in disguise? Beautiful imagery, very graphically evocative poem. Also, it is allusive, lets the reader wonder about what, why, who... Hats off.