An Eighth Of A Lemon - Poem by Donal Mahoney
For Martha in the early years
life was recess, nothing more.
She knelt on asphalt,
quartered oranges for kittens
who never lost stringed mittens,
whose London Bridges
never fell down.
For Martha now,
life's Parkview Manor
where a woman in white,
three times a day, bleeds
an eighth of a lemon into her tea.
Comments about An Eighth Of A Lemon by Donal Mahoney
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.