A little bit of sun in June
turned into a hand-held moon,
a thank you memo
from the crooked tree
for winter's patient watering.
How lightly it drops at my touch
only when it's at its sweetest,
bright orange and hot.
Loving nature this way
makes me wonder certain things,
for instance, 'When we eat it,
does it sweeten you and me? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem