The mooning.

How much pain, how much strain,
How much time, how much space,
To plough and grow our courtship,
Knowing it would yield raw fruits.
A guava half ripe tastes as good.

The unripe love is more worth
As to the unborn love.
22.12.2000, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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