Twin oaks are leaning over the loch
Murmuring of this and that
Click-whump clickle-whump they complain
The fork of one is harbouring tiny ferns
Like maidenhair, an emerald blush of fronds
The other carries acorns in his lap,
A squirrel’s treasure chest
Wind lifts their leaves in unison
A tribal creak, restless as the eaves
Of a moving vardo
Their roots tap into the blood
Of a little traveller
At night they dream of leaving their grassy berth
Of rising like the humming flies of the loch
Of dancing over the waves beneath the moon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem