What’s that? <br />That sound from the wood! <br />Does that bare tree complain a lot? <br />It does not! <br />It cannot be. <br />Is it the call of a bird? <br />It might maybe. <br /> <br />But high on its boughs <br />I can’t see a thing: <br />Not a sign I see. <br /> <br />I listen in, all ears, <br />And found out now <br />That the sound <br />That had puzzled me <br />Came after all <br />From the tall old ash tree, <br />Creaking in pain, <br />In vain to complain <br />Of the way that the wind <br />Blows to bow and to bend it. <br /> <br /> <br />A reminder to me <br />That the suffering of man <br />Sounds so much the same <br />In everything but name. <br /> <br />(My own translation of my poem in Gaelic 'Ceist Agam Orm'.)<br /><br />Matt Mooney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-ask-myself-5/
