An old ladder
rotten with age
thrown against
the hedge
where a young bramble
new to this world
with summer singing
in its blood
climbs
tentatively rung b y
rung
to the golden
orb of the sun
its tiny
tendril fingers
grasping
at last
...the sky!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'with summer singing in its blood....' what a lovely statement of the determination of life to survive. The things we never think of, the vines that continue to grow, year after year, with summer songs in their hearts....is wonderful.