I gave you my life
In its pure flavor,
Strong in scent
Though how withered it looks.
Ripened and ready,
I felt sorry
For it could never stand up
To your taste.
Your table manners
Seem quite ecstatic
For me to cope up
With your preferences.
What could I do more?
I've already wasted my time
Spoon feeding you
The main course.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem