"Your friend is your field which you sow with love"

My friend, is my field which i sow with love -
and reap with thanks giving, says Kahlil Gibran...

Well, i suppose it's true: you are the field -
on which i sow with love, and reap with thanksgiving...

But something must be wrong:
'coz you have sulked for so long...
even though i had tried to explain -
i don't think you had tried to listen...
'coz it's just unlike a friend to sulk for so long -
this field that i had sown with love for so long...

And i was sad at the thought -
that something must really be wrong...
for a field that i have sown to sulk for so long -
and to even refuse to accept the olive branch
that i had extended to her, not once but twice -
and it is unlike her to be so stubbornly sore for so long...

I feel it is unlike her to be so angry for so long -
and it saddens me a great, great deal, to be so sorely wronged...