The Lemon Girl

she, a fragment of the Gold or a tossing Sunflower, or some roadside Bloom

no one knows who she is or where she comes from

trotting the cobblestoned paths of the Mexican town

she, the harbinger of hope, a breezy sip in the scorching noon

with a basketful of lemons and a jarful of lemonade

she brings respite to every parched soul, to each thirsty nomad.

when despair and mundane thoughts shroud the heart

she refreshes the friable souls with the yellow potion or a tart

her dusky membrane is a facade to her gentle, crystal heart

a Samaritan to the travellers but to the kids, she is their sweetheart

scouring the fields she collects bright and juicy lemons 

rejuvenating the worn spirits, inspiring them, though to all she is a question.

some call her “the yellow lady”, some, “the lemon maiden”

but no one knows how this Angel is born from her own ashes, slaying her demon

behind her citrus veil, she hides her bruises and scars

she is a cascade of hope to some and to others the North Star

as tales of her intoxicating tangy fragrance wafts far and wide

her famished heart and yearning eyes hope someday she’d be some Prince Charming’s Bride. 

 Pic Courtesy: Google