A razing storm is blowing. 
You face it like an oak tree
against its cyclonic speed, 
but get uprooted in the end.
Or you bend like a willow, 
letting the storm pass over, 
again regain your posture, 
finding foothold on the soil.
Upheavals come, rattle life.
How to face them? Is it like
a stubborn oak, a lithe willow 
or a balanced fusion of both?                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Inspirational