Yesterday 
the neighbors cut the pear tree. 
I can still hear that fall 
although now 
through the windows 
I can see the stars. 
Easily. 
Today, 
while the landscape is dreaming 
I am 
looking at the sky 
over the stump. 
And I am afraid of the dead, yellow leaves 
and the shivering of the dry branches.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem