And I haven’t yet understood

how a woman who’s loved can die

An almond tree has grown in my garden

just breathing most tenderly and

because each morning makes it wilt

it won’t give me the joy of its blossom  

and alas I love it so

every morning I walk and kneel before it

and with tears and water I water it

the almond tree grown in my garden.

Oh, the lie of its little life will end

and all its still hanging leaves will fall

its branches will turn into dry wood

spring of its blossom it won’t give me

and I, the poorest, have loved it tenderly.