The Fruit I Looked At
In our neighborhood
We had a tree
Full of fruits
I wished one to set my mind free;
I was looking at one to pick
Fresh and ripe
But taken
By a falcon demon type;
Since then I am found
To scratch
To bite
And to count the sailing cloud;
In suffering, in pain
They fall
By dripping
But the fruits take them as rain.
To ameliorate the pang
I drift
And weep
Yet I see no sign of lessening grief.
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