1. O tree among the shrubs, though wise,
I give you my sincere blame, not lies,

2. You bloomed not, and bore no fruits, barren as can be,
So become a target, for misfortunes to see,

3. In you no shade for noon’s scorching heat,
In you no use, for people to eat,

4. Despite your lack of goodness all around,
Your thorns hurt those by which you’re found,

5. Those thorns, no doubt about this fact,
Are useless, for you weren’t blessed by rain’s tact.