Nikephoros Vrettakos : The orange trees of Sparta
The orange trees of Sparta, snow, flowers of love,
sprang into whiteness at your words, bending down
their branches,
I hugged them to my small breast and went to my
mother.
She was sitting under the moon, worrying about me,
she was sitting under the moon and she scolded me:
Yesterday I washed you, yesterday I changed you,
where did you
run off
to —
who filled your clothes with tears
and bitter-orange blossoms.
— translated from the Modern Greek by Jon
Corelis