Tree-top high,
thrashing in the branches,
the wind arm-wrestles the limbs
of cypress,
making a rushing sound -
water over the dam -
and humming through the cedars.
Wind sooths it's burning moss. Still, branches fly to whip it. With healing hands full and app..iip
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wow, I love this one, something powerful and mysterious seems to be at work here... almost cinematic, dream-like.....