for a tree which for years
has not known the vein
of a leaf
one night in a hundred
years
the shadow of a stalk
and the
maps of a midrib
and the
giggle of the guard
cell
can give it the hope
for flowers
as morning breaks
when the petiole gives up
with dignity
it falls
back to the embrace of
the burial
hands of the
earth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem