Brought home, glorious and blooming,
unaware of its fate, looming.
Cold, forgotten, left to the elements,
soon it begins its wilting lament.
Its buds close in its despair,
remembering times of lost thoroughfare.
then as a phoenix, it rises from its plight,
in spring again a beautiful sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem