Gnarled boughs
testament
of battles fought and won.
Fighting leaves
positioning,
to be nurtured by the sun.
Wrinkled, tortured bark
hide behind it’s cloak
a virile trunk.
Twisted, determined roots
drilling
for water in which to soak.
For mankind
who weather
the same tempests as a tree,
strength doesn’t ensure survival,
resilience,
is the key.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem