Shaded branches of ocotillo's, standing silent and
innervating.
Other arms bathed in sunlight, warm to the touch in
this heat.
Wrapped around and about each other in a natural
occurrence of nature.
Growing however it is they are supposed to look like
when full grown.
Standing with thorny branches, warding off predators,
hopefully.
Never thinking to do otherwise throughout their lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem