The trees watch carefully,
Sending out their invisible aura,
In slow, rhythmic pulsations,
Few leaves are winding down,
Even less will touch the ground;
Lucky those held in esteem,
Shine emerald in the light,
Ever decreasing though,
The darkness is showing;
The worrisome strings,
Of a violin sting my ears,
Electric nonsense stirs something,
Inside me, but vey briefly,
The trees spark, shatter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem