Some Wordless Wednesdays need a few words.
A few weeks ago, I planted a Meyer lemon tree. To say I was thrilled when blossoms appeared would be an understatement. Each day, I walked by the small tree and planted my nose into the cluster of sweet-smelling flowers.
In time, the flowers withered and small green nubs appeared — my first lemon harvest. Granted they were far from ripe, but my mouth watered with dreams of freshly squeezed lemonade and zesty gratings on vegetables.
When one of those green nubs turned yellow — lemony yellow — I think I did a skip to the door to call Joe outside to take a look. My little lemon — together we would concoct potions to share with neighbors.
Then the wind came and on my morning stroll, I noticed my little lemon on the ground, knocked from the rest of the cluster. As I held it gently in the palm of my hand, I knew I had to write an ode.
My Little Lemon
I think that I shall never see
A little lemon as lovely as thee.
You were barely grown,
When the wind had blown,
Leaving you quite smaller than a pea.