Poezie
The Naming
of the Tree
1 min lectură·
Mediu
A man meets a tree.
What to call it? wonders he,
for he has never seen another tree before.
Is he as me? he asks
for it was standing straight,
as men when burdened not do.
Is he dead? he wonders
woriedly while feeling carefully about its trunk.
wooden, cold, and dry.
Is that his bride? asks he
while hurriedly inhaling the colourful perfume
of the colourful flower, hung high above the hume*.
Are those his children? he asks
while hearing wind about its leafs.
mesmeric, playing merrily upon the light.
And what shall I call this? he wonders
while reaching for the Apple.
The fruit was sour.
the man moves on,
and meets another tree.
A man names a tree.
What to call it? wonders he,
for he has never seen another tree before.
Is he as me? he asks
for it was standing straight,
as men when burdened not do.
Is he dead? he wonders
woriedly while feeling carefully about its trunk.
wooden, cold, and dry.
Is that his bride? asks he
while hurriedly inhaling the colourful perfume
of the colourful flower, hung high above the hume*.
Are those his children? he asks
while hearing wind about its leafs.
mesmeric, playing merrily upon the light.
And what shall I call this? he wonders
while reaching for the Apple.
The fruit was sour.
the man moves on,
and meets another tree.
A man names a tree.
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