A fruit is fated to be sliced.
It sings before the blade,
In joyful hope that now at last
It's future has been made.
The slice is swift.
The foodie's fast!
The rind is cut and saved.
The pulp is squooshed and
Squished and smashed!
I've heard that it's been said
No braver lemon gave it's life.
The memory never fades
For citrus that resigns itself
To become lemonade.
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