The poplar leaf

Mobile, trembling leaf,

quivering on your stem,

are you never at rest?

The slightest breeze in the branches

makes it look like the north wind

is shaking you.

Like Aeolus' harp,

each zephyr draws

sad sounds from you.

When nature sleeps,

I still hear your murmur

in the night silence.

When will your flexible branch

ever see you at peace?

When will your voice be silent?

When I'm snatched from my stem

and have joined my forest sisters

on the dry grass!