Little sweet seeds
Poetry

Little sweet seeds

When I was little
And my brains were brittle 
I would watch through the smoke stained window
Down the street past the old willow
For my father's shadow to glide
Up the street with himself at its side
He would always carry a paper bag
Filled with oranges sold by a scary hag

I would fly down the street 
And embrace him with no wear upon my feet
And we would soar back home
And sit on the red sofa foam
He would give me a gigantic sweet orange 
And I'll remember no word rhymes with orange
He would then say to me as he did the day before:
"Don't chew the seeds, but feast on the juice until you want no more"

And I would say to myself 
Albeit unheard by himself, 
"The orange is sweet, 
And its seed is too small to gain this feat, 
Except it has too much sweetness to go around"
And I would thereafter go around
Seeking some money
To eat the seeds, sweet as honey

 

Photo by Xiaolong Wong on Unsplash

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