Elegy for two orange trees

Although we experience the same emotions, not everyone express them by the same way.

Each winter they brought juice, nostalgic I remind
with imaginatively delight, that I went
every winter at my grandparents’s home to collect
bitter oranges from some spinous branches.
Those days looked dry, filled with cold boredom,
my puerile mind embraced a break-up with bore
while I helped thrown the fruit on a corner of the room.

The joy those fruits brought for a little girl seemed
very meaningful on a place where to find sense was
a hard duty, conflicting with adults’s world, a world
composed of rules and ambiguous rewards, now that world is totally
out of meaning, so I’m in elegy for those orange trees.
I thought they will be eternal, while sad I notice
They fell as ants’s sustenance.

The ghetto spaces they occupied by decades are empty
bush are growing as is expected on these arid sites  
it seems like a tree never was planted over there
a mastic tree could be the answer, if this is a hill,
with not ocean to embark, only a friend river,
not very far, two strange lemon trees are fighting to grow.