The apricot tree lives!
New leaves curl on a spikelet.
Our negligence spelled its doom;
for we did not prune,
and under its own weight
it broke and fell with a crash.
Now we will make sure it grows straight;
there's a chance it may yet succumb;
but hopefully not, then
all will be well, this I foretell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem