There is a dance growing on the forest floor, 
A hemlock and yellow birch entangled ever-more, 
Their embrace is straight and strong to the core, 
A leaning basswood is cutting in but will not score, 
A blanket of snow silhouettes their steps rooted fore, 
The dance season will change to coalesce once more.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem