A drinking glass appeared for the esteeming,
Vexation bit the lips of the cavity so wide.
Squeezing in liquid brilliantly seemed good,
Like eating at home and not restaurants.
The night time liquified my apples and pears,
In a juicer too spoilt, far too fantastical
In the mode of contention, the style fitting.
An orchard apple tree is acceptable,
The inflexibility of the branches was caustic,
To frailly die and mislead knowingly the picker of fruit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem