The Song of the Barren Orange Tree
Woodcutter.
Cut my shadow from me.
Free me from the torment
of being without fruit.
Why was I born among mirrors?
Day goes round and round me.
The night copies me
in all its stars.
I want to live without my reflection.
And then let me dream
that ants and thistledown
are my leaves and my parrots.
poem by Federico García Lorca
Added by Poetry Lover
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