My head lies on my windowsill
Light shines on my face
and crawls across my wooden floor
To every darkened place
An open book sits in my lap
I mark the open page
looking at a mangled tree
surrounded in hills of sage
I put the book beside me
On my fluffy bed
My arms are lain apon the sill
on them I rest my head
My chin lies gently on my arm
the sky is dotted with many mountain
that have a special look of glass
like mist in a fountain
Below there is a forest
I can see the tree tops in the distance
A line below the sky
that has magical existance
I close my eyes once more
I open them but keep completely still
my eyes are drawn once again
to the scene beyond my windowsill
I look again through the sill
at the mangled tree
and climb down from my room
to stand by it reverantly
I place my hand on it's trunk
the sun shines on my face
and sparkles through it's branches
with a simple grace
I run across the rolling hills
My dress flows behind me
as I whisper again and again
'this is where I want to be'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem