this piece i wrote in a fit of melancholic nostalgia, weighing my life's regrets and misdemeanors.
I nursed an apple till it grew ripe
And waited patiently to devour it.
In spite of myself, I could not pluck it.
Then I thought; let me wait till it falls down itself.
I waited, and my craving for it only increased.
It would have been about to fall down,
When I received the terrible caveat:
‘That a storm is coming in that direction
Which may take away everything with it’.
I was not afraid of the storm, for I lay safe.
But still, frantically ran away from the spot.
Why would anything else pluck it out,
When it was I who nursed it for so long?
I did not wait to see if the detestable storm
Really brought down my cherished fruit.
Far away from that green orchard of yore
I am now in scorching deserts, wailing and ranting;
Looking for the storm to implore of it
Did it really take away my apple?