I don’t want to make some lemonade,
Or meringue pie, or anything I
Can think of to make lemons fade

From a melancholy existence,
A soury fruit-filled persistence.

So I save myself the strain
Squeezing this fruit would be moot
As I’d rather complain in vain.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s