Light miniature leaves sprout out of the ground, as one is fallen in the sea of dust and another is swept in dismay,
the wind blowing and hushing planting the seed, in a land far away
In the darkness of the tainted sky with flashes of white of distant stars that shine at night,
may I not be reborn and rejoice in my own delight?
In the light of a new day, of a new sun, of the new morning air, like the dew on my leaves which tranquilize me with a light glare.
Will I not rejoice in my own fight?
I grow and grow in this desert of land,
find the skittles and sudden stops of rustling animals in the dry grass,
and there I stand,
tall and mighty as a trunk that surpasses the storm,
so rare and so bold.
When the dry season comes, the air becomes an acid that burns down my walls, leaving me weak and wilted. My interior rejoices as the warmth of the water particles surge within me, in the echoes of my stem.
Should I not rejoice for the season that brings me mellowie air?
All around me, the vast land, glistens like the sunlight on ripened grain, or like the moonlight night reflecting its glow over the horizon of the waters, or like the crystal gleams on snow.
I too, glow, with an olive-drab colour, like the multiple feathers of greenie highlights of the birds picking at the dust,
The dust picks back with the dry taste of dirt, in cases
Picking at small ants coming out of their small homes.
The more I live through the seasons, the more I appreciate this nature,
Will I not rejoice in the death of my life?
Will I not be again reborn into tiny sprouts each time more and more?
Thankful I am to nature,
Thankfully I live in this far away land.