You were raised on lemons,
For Life’s malicious demons
Would not let oranges grow:
Killed Papa’s plants, every row!
Your mother made lemonade:
The best that can ever be made.
Ah, your teeth can remind you,
And your patient tongue too.
Now, Life comes to you courting,
Basket of fruits she is totting.
Will you receive that familiar fruit?
Walk again, your father’s route?
See, she reaches for the sour one!
Slap her wrist, dip in there Son!
Don’t mind that Papa and Mama said
“From Life’s lime, make lemonade”
Drag her basket, take you some:
There an apple, here a red plum…
Whose are those, two headed men?
Why lime for Ken, oranges for Ben?
If you remain on the lemon queue
And refuse to heed this rebel’s cue
Forever your tongue will remain stung
As orange pleases others’ tongue
Written by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.