The sun slowly sinks into the sea,
I sit and watch it with glee,
My back against a great big tree.
The leaves are made of love
The branches house a dove.
The trunk is huge, sort of.
Inside, there lives a deva dressed in bark
She serenades me upon her harp.
Her soul is filled with quarks
And in her soul I rest my head,
Within her her heart, my soul is fed.
Next to this tree deva, my pain is shed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem