A lone tree in all it's glory, standing outside upon a green
lawn looking towards windows, thinking, wishing it could see
in and listen to conversations being carried on.
Alas, it is rooted in the ground with no way to do so, instead
standing in the sunlight, dreaming of what might be going on
or said in it's little corner of this wide world.
Having to content itself with what nature has given to it, a
lone tree, a rebel in it's own natural mind, a hero having be-
come a symbol also of this mere poet.
Looking out upon it's delicate nature and realizing it's de-
sires innately, a possibility perhaps to a poet, not so much
to ordinary folks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem