The next time you come to my door,
the next time you reach my bed,
It will not be the same, it will be a different
time, a different world, a different me.
I am a tree, a lonely tree,
that every year dies
and lives again, every season,
new leaves and new sights surround me,
and I am living and dying all the time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem