A small tree grew slowly
Into my heart.
"It's a thorn tree!" they
said.
I didn't listen.
For how can I kill a tree?
A beautiful growing tree
With leaves, and blossoms,
And birds that sing
On bouncing branches in spring?
The tree grew.
The tree grew.
"It's a thorn tree, a thorn
tree!" they said.
But I didn't listen.
The lure of the shade
The beautiful green
Against blue skies
Blinded my eyes
"It's my tree, my beautiful
tree", I said.
Spring after Spring
The thorns on my tree grew sharper,
The thorns on my tree grew deeper
Into my soul.
"It is a thorn tree… A thorn
tree" they said.
But how can I hear them
Now that I’m dead?
1 comment:
Hello, Asmaa Al-Qaysi.
Even more severe in winter, but.
Your work is embraced in your gentleness.
Thank you for the warmth of your heart.
The prayer for all peace.
Have a good weekend. From Japan ruma ❃
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