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Calum Butchart Poem
Every night after I've eaten my tea,
I treat myself to a little tangerine,
I eat the fruit and keep the seeds,
and save a plot from the weeds,
I peel, I soak, I sow, I joke,
that this time, I'll grow a grove,
the kind where lovers toil,
and brothers' bloods boil,
where he could finally propose,
or where your mate Mickey broke his nose,
the kind where the memories of my grove,
outlive the land where it'll grow,
but for now if you'll excuse me please,
I'm off to eat another tangerine.
Copyright © Calum Butchart | Year Posted 2024
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