A poem by me.

The season for fruit is suddenly through.

The only regret is that is left to you,

you didn’t go out and gather more limes

but left them there for another time.

The lime tree’s thorns are painful, yes,

but they should not deter the determined guest.

And the lime itself may be far from sweet

but in soup it rewards those who dare to eat.

And so with love: we often find

regrets at what we’ve left behind,

repulsed by a thorn, a pucker or two,

that would not mean much if we’d pushed on through.

Fun fact: during the month or so at a time that I used to stay with a host family in a remote village in Borneo, they actually had a small lime tree. And it actually had thorns. To pick the limes, I had to climb through the brush, balance on the bank of the little creek that ran behind their house, and avoid the thorns. Most of the limes were small, dry and pulpy … but so worth it.