Sweet Poplar

Sweet poplar,
sweet poplar,
you have become
golden.

Yesterday you were green,
a wild green of 
glorious birds.

Today you are bedraggled 
under the August sky
as I am beneath the sky
of my red spirit.

The captivating fragrance
of your trunk
will reach my
mericiful heart.

Rough grandfather of the meadow!
We have become golden.