Down by the meadow,
there's a tree, good and pure.
And it's leaves are the most fantastic green
you'll ever see.
In the springtime it blossoms,
and joy overtakes the heart,
as petals, pink and soft,
fly in the wind.
And crunching leaves, and laughter
can be heard from the children,
their innocence signaling
the Fall.
And on a branch to the side,
rope cascades down, dry and old.
Flies can be heard in the distance.
And the man hangs, cold and dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem