('Make a tree sound and its fruit will be sound; ...For the tree can be told by its fruit'. N.T. Matt.12: 33) .
The lemon tree still stands alone outside my bedroom
In a level weedless plot where it flourishes modestly
Like a self-assured but lonely, independent person.
At the moment the tree is producing abundant fruit.
So that I am mixing lemon drinks again after a dry spell,
Using hot water, with sugar and honey as sweeteners.
My drinks, hot or cold, are not fizzy like the supermarkets'
But still and true to nature, giving me a shot of energy.
The tree has taken on a mandate to grow higher and wider
So that it blocks out unwanted glare from security lights
that tower like harsh beacons on the street outside:
Now I sleep soundly in the onyx-stone darkness.
When I wake up early each gloomy cold winter's morning,
I draw back the curtains to see the changing yet constant citrus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem