The Lemons Lamant Poem by Kevin Patrick

It clings to stems, like green tendons
raised and nurtured, it hangs from birth
stubborn, pride of the family tree
its sour youth ferments its mirth

and years are twined captive in vines
bidding its time when it is ripe
waiting in the suns solitude
to tastes sweet air of freedoms hype

It grows, voluptuously plump
nestled in tender afterglows
Filled with great anticipation
as its succulent juices flow

and when its right and in full bloom
that yellow sun that tastes like lime
is squeezed and grinned into a pulp
then left to rot when past its prime



And that is a lemons lament