as I watch these leaves and branches wave
and bend in romantic frenzy,
I remember now
how dead and mortified these tress had been in winter.
perhaps,
this night that delays her coming,
this morning that comes too soon,
this sun that loses her hotness to a little
cold and warmth—are the best antidotes
to all who are warned to quit smoking or die young.
death.
two more springs after this season,
you will die again.
come again, sweet spring,
smokers will not die young.
where again was this inscribed?
“smoke and spring are partners in God’s blueprint”.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem