I went awandering in prickly ditches
Where childhood's bloody scratches pockmarked skinny legs
Deceptive pretty wild rose shrubs reminding
How orange skins uncovered painful quills
I tasted once again the tempting, tiny berries
Their flavor more than worth the injuries
What can compare to blood red wild raspberries
Acalling from beside a weedy brook?
My life has been an uncut nature garden
Sweetbriar thriving next to saw grass blades
There was no time to tame the chaff or cumin
With hands sunburned and often limp with grief
My heart so often suffered drought and windstorms
At times I had the urge to close the gate
But how was I to know that I was not the gardener
Nobody told me even my plot had a plan
Today I know, and can remember fondly
How nicks and scratches were just part of life
Today I relish golden skies and sunshine
And lovingly relive those painful bramble days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah a gardener of life, how descriptive! :)