The Old Twisted Oak
He was as wise as could be,
Not old nor young,
His skin was wrinkled,
He was marbled and weak,
His hair stood up,
It was curled and sharp.
He was patched with love,
But was lost once again,
He now lay beneath,
The ever still sand.
He was young before,
But still not old,
He lost his love,
And next came his soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem