Away beyond the Jarboe house
I saw a different kind of tree.
Its trunk was old and large and bent,
'And I could feel it look at me.'
The road was going on and on
Beyond to reach some other place.
I saw a tree that looked at me,
And yet it did not have a face.
It looked at me with all its limbs;
It looked at me with all its bark.
The yellow wrinkles on its sides
Were bent and dark.
And then I ran to get away,
But when I stopped to turn and see,
The tree was bending to the side
And leaning out to look at me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem