(To Oak)

If I love you —

It's not like the climbing flowers,

Borrow your tall branches to show off yourself;

Never learn the birds of infatuation,

Repeat monotonous songs for shades;

It's not just like a fountain,

Cool comfort sent throughout the year;

It's not just like a dangerous peak,

Increase your height and set off your majesty.

Even daylight,

Even spring rains.

No, none of this is enough!

I must be a kapok near you,

Stand with you as the image of a tree. Roots, clenched in the ground;

Leaves, touching in the clouds.

Every gust of wind passes,

We all greeted each other,

But no one,

Understand our words.

You have your copper branches and iron stems,

Like a knife, like a sword, also like a halberd;

I have my red flowers,

Like a heavy sigh,

It's like a heroic torch.

We share the cold waves, the wind and thunder, the thunderbolts;

We share mist, streams, rainbows.

As if separated forever,

But they are all dependent on each other for life.

This is great love,

Here's the thing:

Love --

Not only love your mighty body,

Also love the position you insist on,

The land under the feet.