On a sunny morn
In February
Four years plus we did
Plant our lemon tree
Lisbon by name, strong
By fame.
Each year in the spring
We lovingly watched
Beautiful blossoms
Providing no fruit
Growing only more
By hope.
Anticipation
Was our emotion
Soon to surrender
To anxiety
From winter’s record
Harshness.
Slowly leaves fall
Signaling despair
Overcome by hope
The tree will survive
A winter of the
Decades.
Not so was its fate
Spring having arrived
No signs of growth
Patiently we watch
Finally the day came
Bagged-up.
kenne
We have you covered…our lemons are your lemons!