Bob Kimmerling Poet Rhyme

Notes About The Poem

This is a grandad and grandson walk in St Eularia, Ibiza, Spain

Grandad's Secret Lemon Tree

Skirting church on Puig de Missa,
then down the slope towards the river,
St Eularia's Rui, with path that winds on to the sea.
Past the smelly goats, where poking little
fingers get nibbled, and goat-dribbled
through the fence. 

Billy stands high on outcast fridge and
watches babies butt their silly billy heads.
Then past the scraggy peacock, beneath the
orange tree, with oranges bunched and
bright-framed in darkest green among their leaves.
Then walk beside the cleft and craggy wall,
where lizards still unseen await more warming sun.

Past the preening cockerel and his shining
feather suit, strutting proud between each 
grounded peck, while hammock lies still,
stretched between winter's barren trees,
waiting for that day with warmer breeze, 
for May or June to come.

Then water's edge where winter's rain still
trickles over fall, and replenished pool below 
is home to ducks, where ducks and cats are
fed, regardless of what town notice said.

Then past overhanging pomegranates,
three branched all in a row, the top one
pecked by tiny bird, and beneath those rosy
balls, a ball of baby mullet, soft sucking and
disturbing water's idle glassy flow. 

Then lazy walk beyond the bridge where
river's wider mouth has more silty sandy
edge, where out towards horizon a mackerel
sky meets night-stilled sea, and sun's soft
and bright reflected rise holds promise of a
perfect day.


But in between, a secret quest, where
grandad wanders from the path all through
the damp and dewy grass, bright spotted
with Spring's yellow flowers. 
And so the lemon tree is reached, and five fat
lemons quickly picked, avoiding branches
nasty pricks.

And grandad tucks them safe away.
For this is grandad's secret lemon tree, 
with plenty left, and so for sure we'll come
again. We'll come again at least once more. 
We'll come again another day.

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Tania Kitchin August 27, 2026 at 5:44 AM Bob, this is a wonderful poem. The imagery is exquisite. I love the ending about your granddad's secret lemon tree. Bob Kimmerling August 27, 2026 at 1:35 PM Thank you Tanya. I think grandson Archie was about 4 yrs old at the time. He's now approaching 9 and sadly the lemon tree and the chickens and peacocks have all disappeared from our habitual walk where he lives in Ibiza. Other adventures replace the walk, however. He is visiting granny and grandad in the UK during August, and tomorrow we are off fishing.