Shaking sleep from branches of trees, awakening leaves
hanging through the nighttime air, creating beautiful
patterns and shadows across walls and down the street.
Destiny having nothing to do with them for they are
without any life, walking along, passing each of them,
glancing, not really paying too much attention.
Seeming to be alive when in motion, wind blowing their
forms and shapes across a wavering landscape, altogether
shadows not getting much attention as they stand at their
posts throughout the years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem