The seedling. Seeking rooting in rich soil,
Sprouting higher with sunrise-bright lighting,
Folding leaves through night, renewing growth's toil
Morning brings. Each stem, each bud, greens fighting
For its place, life. The Garden's timeless peace,
Sensed soothing by these young, rarely protects.
It beckons, summons, then the surprise cease.
Trusting is treacherous. Testing rejects
Youth which cannot withstand stem breaking storms.
The Garden has no walls. Life, no safety nets.
Winds crumble barriers. Nets seep, drip, young forms
Back to earths old arms. Seeds of timed regrets.
Better to flower the wilderness knolls
Than death in Gardens, without beauty's tolls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem