to see the life of trees.
Trees have their own lives,
they know everything , the tree feels,
They listen to the voices of people passing by,
they stay awake every long night.
They are the perfect soulmates,
you can tell them everything.
They don't have face,
but it doesn't mean they're thing.
Walking along the path,
path covered with moss,
counting the trees - you know, math -
noticed a reindeer across.
Then I got a srange feeling,
like I'm falling down,
I saw the reindeer with a snow hat,
he looked like a clown.
Not that type with a red nose,
but the other - you know - with frown,
.... but it wasn't the raindeer,
who become a clown.
(Moja prvý pokus o prózu po anglicky. Nakoľko moja angličina má ešte čo doháňať, viem, že s ňou svet neprerazím, ale raz treba začať
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