Comments about Danya Qattea
The Mother Tree
A bullet of wind and ice whips through the tree,
leaves scatter and fly towards me.
I remain still.
Winter trills in disappointment and sends another bout of wind.
Leaves fall but are whipped up by the gale,
almost like little fallen soldiers.
More and more fall,
all the while it getting colder and colder.
With a tired sigh,