You Can’t Be a Poet Without Lime

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You can’t be a poet without lime,

Because lemons just don’t rhyme.

They’re sour, they’re pouty, they scowl and they hiss,

Insisting that rhyming is hit-or-miss.

The lime rolled in with a confident flair,

Wearing sunglasses and slicked-back hair.

“Step aside, folks, I’ve got the zest,

When it comes to rhymes, I’m simply the best.”

The apple tried next with a bite of delight,

But it choked on a stanza and gave up the fight.

“An apple a day may keep doctors at bay,

But poetic rhythm? I just get in the way.”

Bananas went bananas, trying to rhyme with “spanner,”

Then slipped on themselves in an awkward manner.

The crowd peeled back in amusement and fear,

As they shouted, “No puns! Not here! Not here!”

Carrots were serious, straight to the point,

They tried to rhyme “health” with “vegetable joint.”

But their lines were too crunchy, too dry, too bland—

They read like instructions, not poems so grand.

Tomato said, “Let me ketchup, I’ve got this,”

Then squirted some sonnet with literary bliss.

But someone yelled, “Fruit or veggie—decide!”

And Tomato cried, “I’ve got an identity crisis inside!”

The grapes huddled close, a poetic bouquet,

They rhymed in clusters in a cabernet way.

But they whined and they stomped when the wine jokes began,

Screaming, “We’re serious poets—not part of your plan!”

Broccoli broke in with a stem-waving shout,

“I’m green and I’m mean and I’m brimming with clout!

I rhyme ‘florets’ with ‘regrets’ and ‘cuisine’ with ‘machine!’

My verses are nutrient-packed and clean!”

Coconut clunked with a beat on its shell,

Spitting out limericks and puns that fell well.

But when asked for a haiku, it just rolled away—

It said, “I’m more of a beach bum, come back another day.”

Celery came with its rhymes in a stick,

Crunchy, repetitive, overdone quick.

It rhymed “ant on a log” with “jog with a frog”

Then wandered off reading a self-help blog.

The peach took the mic, cheeks rosy and sweet,

With verses that made the eggplants all tweet.

It rhymed “tender” with “slender,” then “juicy” with “moosey,”

(Which technically isn’t a word, but hey, it felt loosey-goosey.)

Garlic just whispered, “You’ll all thank me later,”

Then penned a poem that made onions feel greater.

The onions, inspired, began to weep,

“Such poetic depth, from a bulb so deep!”

Pineapple chimed in with spiky disdain,

“My poetry stings, it’s born from my pain!”

But its metaphors fell, a bit too prickly—

And rhyming “vacation” with “spination” was… tricky.

Now back to the lime, still smooth and composed,

Its verses? Sublime. Its stanzas? Well-posed.

It rhymed “citrus” with “witness,” “green” with “serene,”

It made even rutabagas swoon and lean.

So here’s the finale, the fruity refrain—

In poetry gardens, it’s lime who reigns.

With rhythm and rhyme, it conquers the time,

And proves once and for all:

🍋You can’t be a poet without lime.🍋

AI was used to aid in this creation.