Beyond the fruit
I am all ready to climb the tall tree,
The branches are loftily Swift and free.
Far away is the golden fruit that takes the tree from dust to glory.
It looks as pure as the justice yields a place in the poetry.
It pushes me to the limit of urgencies,
curvy and thin branches Challenge my tendencies.
The contemplation creates an obstruction in the event,
In between a monkey jumps to catch the fruit hidden and latent.
I am immensely disappointed not to act fast,
But my sadness will not linger and has to last.
As I approach the tree closer to a minimum, The number of fruits beat the counts to a maximum.
So I sit there with a sense of satisfaction,
There still lies the beauty and its addiction.
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