Sunday, January 24, 2016


Too many lettuce kill
My active appetite.
All of my senses feel
No more of those delights
That go with chocolates.
Overflowing in plates.

There used to be mangoes
And awesome, native food.
Now, wherever this goes,
Though we still have some goods,
Those goods are all lettuce;
It's all we can produce.

Like a tree in winter,
In the cold so bitter,
Sight of leaves come fainter.

Then please bear with the times,
For we can go through this.
We haven't passed the nines;
None a day we will miss,
Even though we're reduced.
Let's cherish the lettuce.
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