The palm tapper is unhappy
Of the astronomical growth
Of the palm tree.
Many will lick oily hands
But blistered palms
Are repugnant to many.
Tender secretly your sprouting plants
Be mindful of your unborn harvests
Otherwise it might be trod upon.
Watch before leaping
A snare may be ahead.
In all you do, be careful
So that your tender plants is not scorched
Think about this, I have spoken
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem