Not picking, by frost bitten

One day , Love,
We will surely stand under the Tree
Which we had planted out of our magnanimity,

We would look at that fruits,
But would never pluck them,

In their stead we would live amazed
Spoilt by the frutification of our choice,

Apple picking we had not learnt,
For by Frost, we had dipped our fingers,

Our blood had got the bites of ice,
And we will surely live it through, thrice,

Standing right under the Tree, me a wit,
And Your kindness by rhyme unleashed.

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