Rolling hills of grass supporting trees in their
lives of beauty.
Covering their fragile roots with blankets only
they possess.
Taking care that no frost can get to them in the
icy coldness of a winter's night.
Delicately swaying with gentle wisps of wind, life
bows down before Him in it's eternal prayer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem