More patient now, time has past,
it's nostalgic watching young ones grow,
they twist and bend in crooked winds.
Limbs reaching for sky, by a sturdy truck
with branches tall and green, the roots
alive stories to tell, some lessons
hard, while others sweet.
So young, so green, they're growing tall,
just waiting for their day...until that time,
they'll be, shaded by the older trees.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem