Fresh Figs
In El Paso I first met a fresh fig.
A boy of six, I took my first bite.
It was so good I began to pig.
Little did I know my coming plight!
Fresh Figs
In El Paso I first met a fresh fig.
A boy of six, I took my first bite.
It was so good I began to pig.
Little did I know my coming plight!
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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