A tag of velvet, hidden well,
awaits the day when
trepidation rumbles
and shakes
the budding tree.
Explorers always smile
the smile of
reassurance.
As if to say
all will be well.
The fruit soon drops,
spills from its little heart
a precious liquid
soon to greet
a creature wild,
with looks no less banal
than a thin-skinned
and puffed-up caterpillar
from
the horny wilderness
of Kurdistan.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah Yes, The 'Precious Fruits' so good to read about them, when earlier we were subjected to reading about the bad fruits by PoemHunters latest Loon...who we know here in our town! Have a great day! Theo