Wood and stone or flesh and bone... in the end nature wins.
A creeper vines crookedly up the old stones …
upon which it depends.
Gnarled old hands reach up to give a caress to the fresh young leaves
that spring back from the pressure with the exuberance of youth
as if to say…“I WIN! ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A small masterpiece here Julie. A little gem, so well expressed. You have avoided the temptation to waffle on as so many do.