Wind blowing cattails and ragweed to and fro.
Marching to a rhythm that no one else can know.
Spiders crawling eight-legged up the walls,
never counting the bricks it takes to get to
their webs.
Confessions of something better than all of
this is promised, but never comes to be
realized at anytime in nature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem reminds me of the nature poems of Emily Dickinson. Simple to the point and very original!