Pruning

There’s a violent pruning occurring in me,

It dances to the rhythm of my weary heart,

The bitter aftertaste reminds me that I’ve never been one for lemons,

I confess a partiality to the sweeter things in life,

Yet this time I  can’t escape it ,

So I’ll let the vine dresser do his job.

Then I’ll sit in the sun and drink sweet lemonade.

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