In the garden of hope
Grew a marvelous cantaloupe
Starting small, green and oval
Steadily growing; seeking approval
Between the hours of sunrise and setting
Developing a lovely protective netting
Near maturity its sweetness intensified
Its flesh mingled with fruitful ideas inside
Reaped and sliced, each piece was sizable
Shared and digested, no longer recognizable
Thrown away were many unproductive seeds…
Dreams were destined to die in the weeds
Is this why my Dad would thump me on my head when I did something stupid and admonish me to use my mellon? Tom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great play with the metaphor....love it: O)