Orange Tree Poem by Joan Xie

Moving man refuses to move
my orange tree.

I'm willing to pay more money
but he shakes his head and says,
A living thing can't be moved.

I'm willing to abandon the pot, reduce the weight
but he bites his lips and says firmly,
A living thing can't be moved.

I threaten to fire him. I plead.
The moving man crosses himself
while carrying my orange tree into his truck.

moving into a sunny house
I have a new key;
my orange tree, new fertilizer.

After a blossoming spring and a bee summer,
the orange tree is flourishing.

In autumn, it's covered with purple fruits,
round and full.