The Bamboo Trees

Beside our old wooden house in the farm, myriads of bamboo trees are still standing; Their slim bodies always gently arching Like bowing towards the earth's loving palm. I see each little leaf that keeps swaying, Into the tune of mountain breeze blowing, Like the soft arms of a child awaiting, To embrace her father arriving. Each little shoot that persistently grows, Is more than enough to wipe all sorrows; Hoping and waiting that each tomorrow, New bamboo shoots will continue to grow.