When in vineyard dies a vine
Sapling can't grow in its place
To pick of else farmer declines
Long sprig supple as shoe lace
Buries the shoot in deep groove
It shortly starts to spread roots
Sucks mom's sap, soil to improve
At end becomes firm on its foot
Now does farmer cut navel out
For mom vine breathes a break
They both produce grapes stout
Their courtesy stays their sake
Darookh I've is girlish sapling
Richer than me and celibate
Large family I've to up bring
Diabetic wife to medicate
She won't split up of my stem
She still siphons of my blood
She practices mean stratagem
Outdoors her altruism flood.
Tuesday November 4,2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem