When an interest begins to wane.
As if a weeding from a flowered crop...
Suddenly stops,
An attention given.
This is noticed as a harvest,
Drops its flourishing known.
And the one who daily nourished it...
Finds a more suitable taste to explore.
A task addressed and once adored.
When an interest begins to wane.
And a welcomed rain,
Now pours to go ignored...
To drown what fed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem