Like an apple on a tree, waiting to be picked, selected,
knowing I will soon fall to my knees under the apple tree.
Wasted, unwanted, abandoned in this life as I lay on the
ground rotting, disintegrating into a pile of refuse.
Helping nature grow a tree, not being able to grow myself
on this or any other day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem