A little blonde beateous in a white tank top and blue jeans
browses the produce department;
her soft hands with manicured nails of a shy-blushed red
grip a dark green shopping cart that perfectly matches her eyes.
Amongst the luscious fruit she's the perfect peach he expects to pluck.
With a smirk and a swagger,
he makes his approach,
with the grapes, bitter tangerines,
and pristine pears looking on.
After a lime-sour stare, she coldly turns away,
wheeling off with his pride.
Amidst the now giggling audience,
a single bruised banana sighs in sympathy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
quite fun.......a giggle sprouts from underneath when you concluded........... rgrds/salu