The Fruit
Driving in the sunny south,
Southern Europe not Wexford.
You see them lined along the path
The citrus trees full of that fuit.
You know, that fruit,
The citrus one, you drink its juice,
No not lemon you idiot, the other fruit.
The one that doesn't rhyme, the poet's taboo.
It tastes oh so fresh
Full of Vtiamin C
I can tell you're getting a picture
Of what this fruit may be.
No? My God man seriously?
The frsh citrus fuit, full of Vitamin C?
Don't make me say it don't make me!
Fine, fine, fine it's an orange!
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of poems done as part of a poetry workshop in school
