Today
let me be a tree, surrounded by tall green grass.

I might be a strong oak, cornering the field
where we used to run toward the tangerine hills.

I might be an old pine, crooked above the waist,
and firm still below the ground.

I might be a patient willow, resting by the lake,
listening to the echoes of the wind.

Or I might as well be a small fir tree, or a birch.

A tree with strong roots,
nurtured and supported by the ground.

Lukáš Sabol