I feel like a plum,
Beginning to ripen.
Who will pluck me
From the thorny branches
And taste me first?
Wait.
Not a plum.
I am perhaps the tree herself,
Sending forth plum after plum.
In either case spring comes soon,
And I bear buds, ready to burst into blossom.
And where there are blossoms
There will soon be tasty fruit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem