Christine Ullmann LFABI
Saplings - Poem by Christine Ullmann LFABI
I see young saplings in a field,
Standing in a row.
Their branches reach to heaven,
In perpetual prayer.
They are so slum and tender,
That no one would harm them,
O cut them down for wood,
They'll grow there for quite some time,
As all living things should.
Like saplings, I would have my children grow.
When hard winds come.
They bend and bend
and do not break,
And lean and lean,
but do not fall.
Comments about Saplings by Christine Ullmann LFABI
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You