When we first met
We shared an orange;
I took the pit
And planted it;
How proud I was
When it sprouted;
It seemed an omen
By Fate we're routed
From a seedling
It grew and grew
I tended it
I tended you,
But after years of growth
It produced no fruit
Just spiky thorns
And sharp rebukes;
It produced no fragrant
Lush bright flowers
On limbs that climb
And prickly tower;
Despite my care
It bore no fruit,
Years unaware,
Oh wasted youth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem