From a forest
of great height and full of pride
he is the last one left behind.
Of the rich settlement
of squirrels and woodpeckers
they have taken one by one,
until he alone now
defies the winds
offering shelter despite of all.
"Poplar tree with your silver leaves,
you are the last of your kind here.
Standing so tall, from the earth up to the sky.
Will you be strong and endure all woes and pain -
or finally fall, because no one holds you any longer,
none of your friends to keep you grounded stronger?
Will you spare my home,
if you perish - or
will you even aim at the one you can punish?"
Wind sways the trunk of the poplar,
its leaves rustling softly,
while I stand in its shadow, trembling.
It dawns on me that I am tiny,
my lifespan an episode in his memory.
He stands tall, whoever might come:
Never denying his true nature,
never willingly bending,
never even fleeing the pain of his soul.