I cut up a lemon and ate it.
The peel I did wash and then grate it;
Added it to hors d’oeuvres.
But it got on my nerves:
I was still puckered up four hours later.
So my hubby said, “Let’s do some kissin’,
‘Cause, for sure, some of that I’ve been missin.”
So we smooched ’til he said,
“I feel like newlyweds!”
Now, hubby more lemons is fixin.’
(This is the kind of stuff we poets write when we’re straining to find anything else to do in order to keep from doing the work we’re supposed to be doing.)