Dropped like a lemon
I roll under the bed
I’m putting all my lemons down
To follow what she said
But if I get no sugar
Can I still make lemonade?
Will this tree grow new leaves
Or die and slowly fade?
We throw a lemon back and forth
She tires of the game
Wanders off with some new froth
I’m left an acid maim
It wouldn’t hurt if I were whole
I wouldn’t feel the sting
But I’ve got cuts all over
To let lemon juice in
My head tells me all will be fine
My heart has run a mile
Away from feeling dropped
Forgotten for a while.
It may be she won’t find me
Won’t pick me up again
I’ll rot under her bed
In my shadowy domain.
More likely I’ll just roll away
And give up on this maid
I’ll roll back home to where I’m loved
To make my lemonade.
But I hope that we can squeeze
Our juices soon in mixing
Foliage will spring again
My wounds her presence fixing
I hope that we will find
And gorge on fruit divine
In summer bliss we’ll share a kiss
Forget this fruitless winter time.
Joe Blogs