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.