There are those words
That poet grow,
We call them poetry;
And if you listen
You will know
And sometime even see
The pictures they bring,
Into your mind.
To make your mind fly free
Like birds in trees,
They have their wings
For you and likewise me;
Or otherwise,
You couldn't know
Neither the forest nor the tree
That all this art
Is so special for
And wants us all to be,
So we can take a look ourselves
And hidden meanings see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem