I spied a lemon hanging on a tree,
As green as the surrounding leaves and of
A height with my forehead. I laughed to see
The danger of a bonking from above.

And every time I passed the lemon tree
I dodged at the last minute to avert
Collision ‘twixt the unripe fruit and me,
With its proximity I liked to flirt.

Until one homeward walk in falling night
While half-formed sonnets danced around my brain,
Distracted by these visions, I walked right
Into the lemon. Was it preordained?

As Newton’s apple gave us gravity,
A lemoned Libby produced poetry.