A flash of red and black
lands on ridged bark,
finds an open vein of golden sap.
Gathering wasps, hornets, bees, and blowflies,
assail her tiny head.
She beats her flimsy crimson wings,
determinedly.
And although they are only
dusty silken things,
one by one,
the highwaymen recoil,
with empty sacks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem