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This is my garden, my career;
full blooms for ladies I once knew.
Beware, beds creep to plots of fear,
all nettled, drenched with tears of dew,
as mounding mites, each crawling year,
must blight the spot where flowers grew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
that was very poetic, keep it up.