An aging mesquite tree, head full of branches and leaves
being blown about, dancing in an evening wind, looking so
graceful and lithe.
Seeming to do the ballet as the sun shines it's spotlight
of rays upon it, illumination focused on it's exquisite
make-up and form.
Gnarled trunk and branches making their way into heavens
above as we watch, not able to see it's invisible growth
being nourished before our eyes.
Knowing that it's being nurtured through Mother Nature
here on this very temporary earth this evening, enjoying
watching the ballet of an aging mesquite tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem